It was difficult to estimate the time because the weather was so gloomy. The grey sky, heavy and humid, had looked the same since the first light of day.

Nanterre seemed grey and sad, which greatly affected the morale of the residents. Everyone hoped for better weather and good news. Unfortunately, neither seemed to be on the horizon.

It was too warm for the rain to turn into snow, but not warm enough to abandon thick coats. Karima, warmly wrapped in her blue and black coat over her bulletproof vest, looked like a shadow among others in the middle of the street. With five volunteers trailing behind her, she walked briskly, coldly observing what was happening around her, on alert for any suspicious noise or movement.

Everyone was on guard because there had been accidents in recent days. Patrols had been attacked, possibly by terrorists who had managed to cross the Seine. They apparently did not appreciate seeing the bridges connecting the communes on this side of the river to Paris destroyed. Now, if they wanted to loot their precious resources, they had to either cross the river and return with their loot or take a long detour to use another bridge.

The gendarmes, police officers, and volunteers were very tense. The threat could come from anywhere.

At this hour, the streets were almost deserted, with the curfew approaching quickly. It would be announced by the person in charge of keeping time, stationed at the top of the bell tower with an hourglass, by striking one of the bells of the Notre-Dame de Bon Secours parish church with a large hammer. His sole mission was to measure time and announce the hours to all residents. At the end of the day, he would strike the bell in a particular rhythm to let everyone know it was time to go home.

The patrol led by Karima encountered a few people, but at no point were they threatened. Even though they were not equipped with modern weapons, their spears, sabers, and swords were enough to deter ill-intentioned people.

"Do you think we'll find those who did this?" someone asked behind Karima.

"I hope so," another replied quietly. "Those bastards deserve the rope."

"And what if they find us?" insisted another.

"The result will be the same," replied the second.

"Nothing will happen," affirmed a third. "There are six of us, and we're armed to the teeth."

"Silence," Karima ordered, turning to ensure her group was following in good order. "Stay on your guard, always."

They jumped at that moment when a bell rang nearby. They were close to the church, and the sound of its bell could be heard from afar, especially now that the streets had become silent. It rang five times to indicate it was five o'clock in the afternoon.

Already? There must be an hour and a half left before sunset. I didn't see the day pass. So much the better! The sooner we finish, the sooner I can rest!

Despite their significantly reduced numbers since the power outage, the gendarmerie had retained enough personnel to maintain order in the city and allow everyone to have one day off a week. The volunteers had two.

Karima had no specific plans for the next day, as almost every week. Most often, she slept in, did some light exercises, spent time in the city, or read a book. A large number of them had been destroyed during the winter to serve as fuel.

At first, they had taken everything they could find, but they quickly realized that not all books had the same value and not all should end up in the fire. So a selection had been made. Books explaining the world before, for the education of future generations, were spared, as well as dictionaries. Then the greatest novels were saved. On the other hand, they had no mercy for the reflections of this or that politician, obscure philosopher, or other public figure.

The group continued their patrol and passed by a series of abandoned apartment buildings. Most of the occupants had left either to find more accessible housing—without elevators, it quickly became complicated to live on the upper floors—or to move to the countryside. The green spaces surrounding them had been transformed into vegetable gardens by those who remained in the area, almost making one forget they were still in the largest urban area in France.

A small number of people, including a few children, were working the land in hopes of a good harvest in a few months. Unfortunately, it was too early to grow anything.

They have courage, Karima thought as she observed them. If everyone did like them, no one would go hungry.

Although they seemed determined to get through this difficult phase, their distress was visible. Both children and adults were swimming in their clothes. Fortunately, it wasn't to the point of looking like living skeletons.

Thanks to General Giraud, we haven't all died of hunger or turned on each other. Even though he obtained very little food through discussions and negotiations with nearby communes, it's better than nothing. As long as we have something to eat, we can keep moving forward, one step at a time.

Karima often talked with her colleagues, and the conversation frequently returned to the topic of food. It was a central issue for everyone. Even though law enforcement, including volunteers, had privileged access to food, it was too scarce not to be a constant concern.

There was a justified fear of new hunger riots, like the one that had driven Greg Toussaint to abandon his uniform to return to his family in the Antilles. Everyone was aware that they were sitting on a powder keg.

Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

Without the general, the situation would have been even worse. And we wouldn't have had a leader. For now, he plays that role, but it's temporary. And if he dies, what will we do? Who will make the decisions?

Despite her thoughts, Karima remained alert to everything happening around her. She was the first to notice commotion in a nearby street.

She quickened her pace, followed by her volunteers who had naturally received combat training, and quickly found the source of the noise disturbing the neighborhood.

In the middle of an intersection, tied to a traffic light, a shirtless man with a red back was undergoing severe punishment. It was his cries of pain that Karima had heard. The person administering the punishment wore a gendarme's uniform and held a long, green, flexible bamboo branch in his hand.

CRACK

"Argh!"

The man, kneeling with his head bowed, let out a heart-wrenching cry, making those witnessing the scene shudder. The gendarme raised his arm to strike again, lifting the branch high above his head. It came down one last time on the poor man's back, who screamed, calling for his mother, tears in his eyes.

If he had managed to stifle his screams during the first blows, it only took five strikes to break him.

Blood flowed down his torn skin, and large purple bruises were already forming.

Despite the cruelty of the punishment, Karima did not intervene. She had witnessed many public punishments like this in recent months, including hangings. She knew that the justice administered before the blackout could not hold in this radically different world. Order had to be maintained at any cost. If shedding a little blood could deter criminals, then there was no hesitation.

Far from condemning them, civilians wanted it this way so they, good citizens, could sleep soundly. A crime had to be punished, and the punishment had to be swift. Waiting had become unbearable for them.

I don't know what this man did, but it must have been serious enough to end up in such a state.

Once the punishment was administered, the man was untied and left there by the gendarme who walked away. The onlookers also did not linger. Soon, only the man with the wounded back remained.

Karima did not approach him, knowing nothing of the situation, and moved her volunteers to return to their original route. They passed by numerous ransacked buildings with broken windows and blackened walls. Nothing had changed since their destruction because the local authorities didn't have the time or means to completely demolish these ruins. If one overlooked the aesthetic aspect, these ruins didn't bother anyone for now. To Karima, this was a mistake since she believed that once razed, these spaces could be used as vegetable gardens.

There were buildings like these all over the city. Combined with all those abandoned by residents, one could say that Nanterre, Puteaux, and all the communes in the area were full of potential future fields. The only problem was that everything had to be demolished and the debris cleared. For now, no one was dealing with it. They preferred to let the situation rot, postponing the problem as if hoping it would resolve itself.

The patrol continued for an hour, and when the bell rang six times, Karima ordered them to head to the barracks. A second team, armed with torches, would take over to ensure no one roamed the streets at night.

In the end, nothing special happened today.

That's the case most of the time. While there were minor incidents, it was never enough to force them to toughen up or administer a public correction. Most often, it was about calming a dispute between neighbors.

Far from being dissatisfied, Karima believed it was thanks to their presence and efforts that there was so little violence. They were far from what had happened in these neighborhoods nine months ago.

But the young woman was not naive: she knew it wasn't solely thanks to them. Most of the residents were either dead or had left in hopes of finding a better life in the countryside.

Out of the 650,000 inhabitants before the blackout, spread across the eleven communes within the bend formed by the Seine, there were not even 160,000 left. With such a drastic decrease in population, tensions inevitably eased. Moreover, with resources being scarce, people lacked the energy to cause problems. They barely had enough energy to tend to their small plots of land or any other activities.

The Rathelot barracks had been relatively spared by the events, but it would be a lie to say it was in the same condition as before the blackout. Weeds grew along the walls, the interior floors were haphazardly cleaned due to the lack of cleaning products, but most importantly...

Damn, it stinks! You can smell the toilets right from the entrance!

As soon as Karima entered the main building to report her patrol to the captain, she was assaulted by a nauseating odor coming from the end of the hallway. The longer time went on, the stronger the smell became. She had stopped breathing through her nose, but this time she forgot to do so.

The odor came from the sewers, rising through all the pipes.

No one had used the toilets since the water stopped reaching here. Without flushing and without functional faucets, it was impossible to evacuate waste. The toilets had been sealed off to prevent worsening the situation, but the damage was done.

During the previous summer's heat, the gendarmes had suffered greatly. The ceilings were then covered with gnats. The winter had killed them, but there was no doubt they would return in force as soon as the temperatures warmed up.

It's disgusting, she inwardly groaned as she gently knocked on her officer's door.

She found him sitting at his desk, the window open to let in the fresh evening air and clear out the foul air, writing a few lines in a half-filled notebook. His handwriting was fine and legible, the opposite of hers, a criticism from her mother and teachers throughout her schooling.

"Ah, sous-lieutenant Ali. How did your patrol go?"

"Nothing to report, Captain. Just a few neighborhood disputes, but nothing more."

"Good. That's very reassuring," the man sighed, removing a small pair of glasses which he carefully placed on his notebook. "I feel like the situation is improving a bit on our side."

Karima was silent for a second and observed her officer. Since assuming the rank of captain, he had lost a lot of hair, and his dark circles had deepened considerably. She often saw him rubbing his face.

"Are you okay?"

"Tired, that's all. It's been a long day. We've had news from outside."

"F-from outside?! You mean from other countries?!"

Karima suddenly felt her energy spike. News was so rare that it was like giving water to a parched plant.

"Yes. I learned earlier that the Channel Tunnel is filling with water. It's very gradual, but there will come a point when it will no longer be possible to cross on foot. I'm going to make an announcement in all the communes to warn the populations. Basically, tell them that if they want to go to England without taking to the sea, it's now or never."

"I see. I suppose that was predictable. Is it seawater?"

"More like rainwater. Since the pumps aren't working, nothing is preventing the water from accumulating at the bottom. We also got news from the Netherlands. The recent storms have broken a dyke. Part of the country is underwater. From what I know, they had time to evacuate the threatened towns and villages. They managed the situation well. Apparently, the last storm ended its journey in Russia and turned into a snowstorm. I don't know more."

Karima nodded silently. It wasn't much information, but since the internet had stopped working, it was very difficult to know what was happening just a few hundred kilometers away.

Had they known everything that had happened across the world in recent months, the two officers would have been traumatized.