Stephanie was guided by her elder sister out of Mathieu's field, which resembled a battlefield. The wheat they had sown was slowly beginning to sprout, but there were still many months before it could be harvested.

The young girl's head was spinning, and her thoughts were confused. She had suddenly felt unwell while helping Mathieu tend to a portion of his land intended to feed them daily, as it was unthinkable to remain hungry until the wheat reached maturity.

They were growing some vegetables, including radishes and potatoes. While they had to wait a little longer for the potatoes to grow large, they could already consume radishes.

They ate almost nothing else, as this small vegetable had the particularity of being ready for harvest in just a few weeks. The wait varied depending on the season and variety, but in any case, it could be considered a fast-growing vegetable. Here, it only took three weeks to produce food.

"Sit down here," Marie commanded softly. "I'll go fetch you some water."

"Thank you," Stephanie whispered weakly. "I won't move from here."

In the shade of one of the storage buildings, Stephanie placed a hand on her forehead.

I'm burning up. It seems like my hat didn't protect me enough.

Indeed, there had been stifling heat for the past few days. Everyone was sweating profusely, and it was clear that they couldn't have worked if there hadn't been an old manual pump on this farm. With such temperatures, it was dangerous to go outside.

The young girl vaguely looked at the landscape in front of her.

They had worked hard for the past two months. The land had been worked, and the seeds had been sown. They had thus been able to taste the fruits of their labor. However, she feared that the harvest would go wrong. With such heat, Mathieu had said, so it must be true, there was a risk that the wheat would burn before reaching maturity.

If that were to happen, it would be a disaster. Their survival depended on this harvest.

The land resembled dust, and the lack of water had carved deep cracks in the soil.

Thanks to water directly pumped from an underground water table located far below them, they could water their crops. But they couldn't do it anytime and anyhow. If they did it now, the water would evaporate in minutes and damage the plants. They had to wait until dusk for the plants to truly benefit from it.

"I brought you some water," Marie said as she returned, handing over a small glass.

"Ah, thanks."

Stephanie noticed that she didn't even have the strength to lift her arms anymore. It was as if all her energy had been drained. She still managed to drink a few sips.

Oh my God! It feels so good!

The water was cool as if it came from a fridge, but it was also a bit cloudy.

Not long ago, she would have been scandalized to see such water in her glass. She would have made a monstrous fuss, saying it looked like toilet water. With that thought in mind, she suppressed a slight mocking smile.

I was really an idiot. I didn't realize how lucky I was. How we all were. And yet, we're lucky to have water at will. I wonder how others are doing? And how is Morgane? I hope she's okay.

She often thought of her best friend. Since leaving Saint-Denis, she hadn't heard anything. How could she when her cell phone was still off and out of order? She still kept it preciously on her just in case but looked at it less and less often.

Part of her still hoped for a restoration of communications, perhaps through the intervention of an allied country.

All she knew was that things were getting worse and worse in Paris. She had terrifying echoes of the situation there through refugees leaving the capital.

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After two months of blackout, there were almost none left. This could mean only two things: either they were taking other paths to get away from Paris, or the capital had emptied of its inhabitants. The third option was so unimaginable that it had been forgotten. It was the possibility that order had been restored in Paris and that there was no longer any reason to leave.

All the stories she had heard pointed in the opposite direction, which was why this option seemed so unlikely. She had even heard that religious fanatics were seeking to take over the city and that they were well on their way to succeeding.

Before the blackout, she would have vigorously insulted anyone who dared to utter such words. She then thought it was just the fantasies of madmen with brains poisoned by dangerous and even deadly ideas. She would then have done everything to humiliate that person and discredit them. She would have plastered them on social media so that they couldn't go anywhere without being recognized and possibly prevent them from getting a job.

But what had happened in the space of two months, what she had seen and experienced, had shown her that anything was possible and that there were no more limits.

She had understood, even though it pained her, that all the dams that prevented men from tearing each other apart had burst.

"Do you feel better?" Marie asked with concern, seeing her sister lost in thought.

"Ah, yes. I'm already feeling better. Thanks."

"That's good. You should stop for today. In fact, I think we'll all stop. It's too hot to work."

"Hmm, okay."

"With such heat, I feel like taking a good cold shower."

"Too bad it doesn't work anymore."

"Yeah. We don't even have a river nearby to bathe and clean up a bit…"

At Mathieu's farm, they could consider themselves lucky. Water and food were so scarce in Paris that people were turning into either living skeletons or wild animals.

Amin Saidi saw this every day that Allah made, and it disgusted him.

His father and the warriors who had struggled to conquer Paris were struggling to maintain order even though they had become the majority in many neighborhoods.

One of the first things done was to establish Sharia law, Islamic law, wherever they were present. This law was much stricter than what was done in France before the blackout, which caused the weakest among them to leave. These were mainly small-time crooks, delinquents who had joined their cause more for the pleasure of ending the world before than out of love for the world they wanted to create. There were also many converts.

These had been strangely surprised when the imams announced that the veil was now mandatory in public spaces and that women must be accompanied by a guardian when they went out.

They already covered themselves before, but now they were commanded to conceal even more of their skin as if simply showing their hands or face was a provocation. As for being accompanied by a man, it wasn't necessarily a bad thing in these particularly difficult times. It was the notion of obligation that bothered the women who had chosen to convert to Islam and follow it to the end.

Of course, the imams had gone further. Sharia law involved a large number of rules and provided for severe punishments in case of infringement.

Due to the seriousness of the situation, the revolutionaries, as they sometimes liked to call themselves, applied the punishments provided by the Quran ruthlessly.

Thieves had to be careful because now they had to live with one hand less.

It was extreme, but according to Amin's father, such punishment was necessary. This was what was provided for in the Quran, so this punishment had been applied dozens of times since they had taken power. It had worked for a while, but the lack of food was pushing people to break Islamic law despite the risks.

"Ahmed, Yousef, don't look away. You too, Amin."

"Yes, Father," the three children said at the same time, but with different degrees of determination.

They were on a paved square surrounded by Haussmannian buildings with facades blackened by fires and the carcasses of cars. They formed a wide circle around a man accused of committing an unforgivable crime against a girl too young to be married.

The child's father was present as well as an imam, the wisest among them, armed with a Quran.

The old man spoke with a voice full of anger to explain to this man the gravity of his crime. The man, on his knees, had received many blows to the face, and one only had to see the fists of the victim's father to understand what had happened.

The crime was too serious to seek penalties that could compensate the victims. The young girl had been defiled and would no longer be able to find a good husband. The father was devastated and only waited for justice to be done.

He was not disappointed even though the damage to his daughter and her entire family had not been erased.

"In the name of Allah," the old Imam with the thick white beard finally said, "I condemn you to death by beheading."

The sentence was unanimously approved, much to the great despair of the guilty party, a boy who couldn't have been more than fifteen or sixteen years old. Amin's age.

A man armed with a long curved saber stepped forward out of the circle and uttered a few barely audible words before carrying out the sentence. The boy's head rolled on the pavement at the third stroke of the saber. Amin, his face pale, endured this nightmarish sight so as not to disobey and disappoint his father. When it was over, he lowered his eyes, his thoughts agitated as rarely before.

This... Is this why we fought? I... This guy deserved death, but... Is this really justice?

"I'm proud of you, Amin," his father said softly. "You didn't look away. Let's go home."

Despite the sweltering heat, Amin felt cold. He just nodded and followed his father and two brothers to their new home.