Karima Ali had left Mathieu Roziers' farm early in the morning. Unfortunately, her mission had to take priority, so she couldn't linger there, even if it was to clean up the mess she had left in the small house the day before.

They had moved the bodies of the attackers outside the property and had gone to bed without cleaning the blood off the tiles.

The confrontation had deeply affected the young woman, and there was no doubt it had done the same for the residents of that house. The problem, she noticed upon waking up, was that it hadn't troubled her as much as it should have. Reflecting for the hundredth time, she supposed that the crazy events of the past three weeks had shaken her far more than she had imagined, to the point of immunizing her to violence.

However, she hoped that this absence of guilt, which should have gnawed at her from within, was explained by the fact that she had no choice and that they were far outnumbered and armed.

From atop her horse, she looked out over the streets of the capital. They were devastated as if they had been bombed for days on end. The carcasses of buses and cars stretched endlessly, as did the piles of garbage on the sidewalks. Rats had found food by tearing open the black plastic bags, filling the streets with a terrible smell.

The buildings had also suffered greatly in the past few weeks. The looters had fun from the first night setting fire to dumpsters and shops. Without firefighters to put them out, the fires often spread to the surrounding homes.

After a few days of testing, these same individuals had started targeting directly the beautiful residences in the center of Paris. They had understood that no police officer would come to stop them. They were free to unleash havoc. As for the people who might be inside, it seemed they couldn't care less now.

Parisians were fleeing the city en masse, which had become a haven for bandits and murderers. Never before had this great city seen such an exodus since the beginning of World War II, when it was threatened by the powerful German army. But just like back then, there were still many who refused to leave.

After so many trials, those still living in Paris were becoming fewer and fewer. She crossed paths with many of them on her way to the barracks, especially families. They formed groups consisting of several dozen individuals to avoid being robbed in the middle of the street.

The numbers were unknown, but it was roughly estimated that over a thousand civilians had lost their lives simply trying to flee the city.

As she was on the outskirts, she saw a body that could no longer be identified being devoured by three dogs. Those who had done this had taken absolutely everything from him, even his shoes.

The dogs growled at her as she approached too closely, and since she didn't want to use her precious ammunition—there wasn't much left after the events of the previous night—she simply continued on her way, swearing to come back or at least to notify someone.

However, she had no illusions; her superiors would likely tell her that it wasn't a priority, even though it was very unfortunate for this person and their family, who would certainly want to see them buried properly, in a cemetery.

Around her, there was almost no noise. Birds and the wind were all that could be heard, as the Parisians passing by to leave the ruined capital did not speak to each other, or spoke in low voices to avoid attracting misfortune.

One didn't need to be a genius to understand that they were all very afraid.

The situation was very similar in Nanterre. People wanted to leave, to get away from the danger that Paris represented. Moreover, could Paris still be called a capital? After all, it takes a state for there to be a capital. Paris was now nothing more than a city, a dying city losing all its inhabitants. There were over two million before the blackout, but now? One million? Five hundred thousand? She didn't know, and no one could know. What was certain was that it could only turn into a desert now that there was no longer the constant supply of food necessary for the survival of its inhabitants.

Soon, there wouldn't be a single inhabitant left in Paris... When I see it like this, I can understand. The smartest thing to do is to leave.

Karima also wanted to leave, probably for the countryside or a small town. But she was a gendarme. She had sworn to serve and protect the population and enforce the law throughout the national territory. Even though the government had collapsed and its law was no longer applied anywhere, there remained a people who more than ever needed help. This included her mother, her only family.

For my mother and all those who want to fight so as not to let our enemies win, I will stay until the end. Even if Mom decides to leave, I will continue the fight for everyone else.

Arriving at the Rathelot barracks, she found a place practically under siege. The military personnel seemed equipped to go to the front. They were distributing riot shields, tear gas grenades, rifles, bulletproof vests, helmets, and so on. There were the entire first infantry regiment and the three security and honor companies, but also gendarmes from other barracks.

Surprised, the young gendarme dismounted and went to meet her superiors who were in consultation in the main building.

On the way, she met her friend, Françoise. Karima was very relieved to see her, as she feared almost every day that she would decide to abandon her post and her uniform.

The building reserved for officers was much quieter than the square outside. She was alone in the corridor.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Timidly, the young woman knocked on the door of the meeting room, and an officer appeared. She didn't know him, but his uniform informed her of his rank. This man was above her in the hierarchy.

"What is it? We're in the middle of a meeting.

Excuse me, Lieutenant, but I've just returned from a mission. I went to Air Base 110, in Creil, on the order of Colonel Desjoyaux, who commands at Mont-Valérien. I have several letters and copies of letters to pass on to my superior, Captain Ollivier."

"I see. Come in."

The men and women in the room all held higher ranks than lieutenant and were gathered around a very large gray table on which rested a massive map of Paris and its surroundings. Lines had been drawn on it, sticky notes attached, and colored markers placed.

The group quickly noticed the arrival of the young gendarme wearing a major's uniform. Captain Ollivier went around the table and greeted the newcomer with a huge smile of relief.

"Major Ali, you're back! Your volunteers informed us that you went alone to Creil Air Base. What's the news?"

Immediately, the other officers listened intently, trying to locate in their minds this base belonging to the air force.

"Captain, here is the mail that Lieutenant Colonel Hervé Duchastel-Montboissier transmitted to Lieutenant Colonel Lejeune. This one is from Colonel Desjoyaux, who explains what he has done and plans to do."

Captain Ollivier received the two letters, the second actually containing several letters, and immediately passed them on to the lieutenant colonel. He seemed more tired and thinner than when she had left on the mission just a few days earlier.

Captain Ollivier observed his superior in silence and waited for him to share the contents of the letters. The silence seemed endless to everyone. Finally, François Lejeune broke it.

"I see. Gentlemen, ladies, the situation will change again in a few days, as Lieutenant Colonel Duchastel-Montboissier will march on Paris with half his men, a little over a thousand people."

"A-a thousand ?!"

"That changes everything! When is he supposed to arrive?!"

"Too late, I'm afraid," replied the lieutenant colonel. "According to our information, the Islamist groups are going to take action today."

"So, we'll have to prevent them from sowing chaos in the city without their help. Do we even have the means?" asked a high-ranking officer with a thick beard.

"I'm not convinced, even if we gather all our forces in one place. We're also short of everything; we hardly have any ammunition left, and almost all our grenades were used up on the first night. We don't even have enough equipment for each of our men."

"Damn it!" growled a man with an impressive build, his eyes gleaming with contained anger.

"If I may, Lieutenant Colonel, perhaps we should deploy our men in advance to prevent these groups from gathering?"

The idea seemed tempting to several high-ranking officers sitting around the table, but it was quickly dismissed by Lieutenant Colonel Lejeune.

"That's not a good idea because if we scatter, we won't be able to communicate easily between us and know quickly the evolution of the situation at each of these points. Plus, we have no information on which streets they will take."

"But we know which are the sensitive neighborhoods. By positioning ourselves near them, we have a good chance of intercepting violent groups."

"Isn't that risky?" immediately asked another soldier sitting next to the previous one. "They could have changed their place of residence while we were busy elsewhere. What do we do if our enemies occupy abandoned housing in other neighborhoods?"

"Captain Lecordier is not wrong. Why would they stay in their hated neighborhoods when there are nice abandoned houses nearby?"

"Because it's their territory, isn't it? Would they be willing to leave their homes so easily?"

"Many Parisians have made that choice."

"But how many of them are proud of their neighborhood to the point of competing with others, even if it means risking their lives?"

Karima watched the animated discussion among gendarmerie officers without knowing whether she should stay or leave. Not knowing what to do, she remained silent, her arms crossed behind her back, awaiting new orders.

The other letters concerned the state of military bases and gendarmerie barracks near Paris as well as the state of nearby towns. Overall, it could be worse, but everywhere there had been looting, shortages, and violence. Civilians, not feeling safe in their own city, often decided to flee with their loved ones to try their luck elsewhere, hoping to find a more peaceful environment and food.

It was then that a gendarme who had easily surpassed fifty knocked on the door. He had a bony face, a dirty beard full of white hairs, and impressive dark bags under his eyes.

It was Sub-Lieutenant Privert, who had just returned from a mission to Nogent-sur-Seine, where the nearest nuclear power plant to Paris was located.

"M-my lieutenant colonel, gentlemen, it's a disaster! The-the Nogent-sur-Seine power plant is burning! Everything is dead for kilometers around! The residents of the surrounding areas are fleeing in all directions and telling every village they pass what they have seen, and these villages are fleeing in turn!"

"Oh my God! Both reactors exploded?!" exclaimed Lieutenant Colonel Lejeune, jumping out of his seat.

"I-I didn't get closer, sir. From the distance I was, I was already way too close. There was a lot of smoke, and it seemed to me that the walls had melted! Oh, yes! One of the chimneys seemed damaged."

"The chimney, that's not important! It's the core that matters! Oh! Well, if the chimney was damaged, it means it exploded and the core is exposed! It's a catastrophe!"

"What can we do?"

"We can't do anything, I'm afraid," replied an officer who looked like Santa Claus, his face dark. "We don't have firefighters to control the fire, no helicopters, no vehicles to send teams of specialists on site, and certainly not enough to build a sarcophagus like in Chernobyl. We have to assume that every power plant is in the same state."

"Damn it! We have to evacuate everyone near the power plants!"

The lieutenant colonel ran a trembling hand over his mouth, then spoke with a voice as clear and sharp as a perfectly maintained knife blade.

"Captain, do you know where our power plants are located? They're scattered all over the country: we have them in Normandy, Seine-Maritime, on the Belgian and Luxembourg borders, along the Loire, Garonne, and Rhône rivers. How many days' ride would it take to get there? And how long have they been burning? It's too late to order anything. The inhabitants have certainly evacuated themselves. There's no point in sending anyone."

"M-my lieutenant colonel, I totally disagree with you! We can't not act assuming that the inhabitants of these regions have made the right decisions! Our duty..."

"Silence, captain!" thundered the officer, banging his fist on the table hard enough to leave an imprint. "I know it's complicated, and believe me, it is for me too! But for now, we must focus on the task at hand and not divide ourselves. Paris is in full anarchy despite all our efforts, and soon hundreds if not thousands of fanatic hooligans will parade and try to destroy everything still standing in the capital. So, focus on your mission. Once that is accomplished, we can worry about what's happening at the other end of France. Remember that there are police officers, gendarmes, and firefighters there too, capable of giving directives in response to the situation described to us by Sub-Lieutenant Privert. Am I clear?"

The officer, his face pale and covered in sweat, lowered his head and submitted to the authority of his superior.

"Yes, my lieutenant colonel," replied the man in a barely audible voice. "Forgive me."

"Good, in that case, we can proceed with the distribution of sectors."