The Road to Saint-Vincent

The air was thick with the smell of smoke and burnt flesh, a stench that clung to them like a shroud. The ground beneath Étienne was soft and uneven, the weight of his boots sinking into the churned earth as he took slow, deliberate steps. His head was still pounding from the explosion, the ringing in his ears making every sound seem muffled, distant. But he could feel the weight of the group's gaze, the quiet tension that surrounded them, as they moved forward through the now-silent forest.

The blast had taken its toll. His arms and legs felt like lead, and there was a dull throb in his side that he couldn't ignore. When he touched it, his fingers came away slick with blood. It wasn't a fatal wound, but it was enough to slow him down.

"Captain."

The voice came from behind him, sharp and steady. Marie's presence had become a constant in his peripheral vision. She was always close, always watching. He didn't need to look to know her gaze was locked on him.

"Let me see it," she said, her tone firm yet calm.

Étienne shook his head, but he felt the weight of her concern pressing down on him. It wasn't just the wound it was her eyes, full of determination and unspoken fear. She was used to tending to the wounded, but even she couldn't mask the anxiety in her voice when she spoke.

"Not now, Marie," he said, his voice rough, barely more than a whisper.

"Now," she insisted, stepping in front of him. She grabbed his arm, her grip surprisingly strong for someone who had seen as much suffering as she had. "We stop, and I patch you up before it gets worse. If you keep moving like this, you're going to bleed out before we reach Saint-Vincent."

Étienne met her gaze, his chest tight with frustration. He could feel the fatigue setting in, his vision beginning to blur at the edges. But he knew that arguing with Marie was useless. She was a force of nature when it came to care, and in this moment, her logic was irrefutable.

He stopped walking, his breath coming in slow, shallow gasps as he leaned against the trunk of a nearby tree.

Marie wasted no time. She unlatched the worn leather bag at her waist and retrieved a roll of bandages and a vial of tincture she had made from the herbs she gathered along their journey. As she knelt in front of him, her fingers moved with practiced ease, stripping away his coat and peeling back the torn fabric of his uniform to reveal the wound.

The gash was deep, but not as severe as it could have been. Blood had soaked through the thin cotton of his shirt, but the damage appeared confined to the muscle and not the vital organs. Still, it was enough to slow him down, to make every step feel heavier than the last.

Marie's hands were steady as she cleaned the wound, her fingers brushing lightly over his skin, her touch both firm and gentle. The tincture stung as it touched the raw edges of the cut, and Étienne couldn't suppress a hiss of pain. His teeth clenched, but he didn't look away.

"Hold still," she murmured. "You've taken worse, Captain."

He grunted in acknowledgment, forcing himself to relax as she applied a bandage. Her eyes didn't meet his as she worked, but he saw the flicker of something perhaps fear, perhaps concern in her gaze. She had been through too much to show weakness, but she couldn't hide everything.

"You're wasting time," Étienne said, trying to keep his voice even, though his chest tightened with each breath. "We need to move."

"We will," Marie replied, not looking up. "But you'll be of no use to anyone if you collapse from blood loss. Besides, we can't afford to push on like this if we're not prepared."

His jaw tightened at her words. He didn't want to admit it, but she was right. His body ached, and every instinct told him to push through, to keep leading his people forward, to keep fighting for their survival. But he couldn't ignore the pounding pain, the warmth that spread across his side as blood continued to seep from the wound.

With one last, deft motion, Marie finished wrapping the bandages tightly around his torso. She looked up at him, her eyes soft but firm.

"Better?" she asked, her voice a little more reassuring now.

Étienne gave a curt nod, though the pain still lingered, a constant reminder of the horrors they'd already faced and those yet to come. "I'll live. Now… how much longer until we reach Saint-Vincent?"

Jean-Luc, who had been standing at the edge of their little circle, spoke up with a half-smirk, though it was strained. "If we don't get caught in the middle of another incident like the last one, we should make it by morning."

Sergeant Heinrich, whose discipline and military training had kept him reserved throughout the chaos, added, "If the road is clear, it'll take us a few hours to reach the village. But the closer we get to the Saint-Vincent stronghold, the more we'll need to be careful. It's become a haven for survivors, but that doesn't mean it's without dangers. There are still raiders, other factions."

"Great," Jean-Luc muttered. "As if we didn't have enough problems. You think the undead are bad? Wait until you see what's left of the people out there."

Marie stood, wiping her hands on her skirts, her face hardening. "What else do we have?" she asked, her tone sharp now, her focus shifting away from Étienne's wounds.

Jean-Luc glanced at the pack strapped to his back. "We've got enough food for a couple of days. But if we're going to make it to Saint-Vincent, we'll need more. And if we're gonna fight anyone else, we'll need more ammunition."

"And medical supplies?" Marie pressed, her voice rising slightly with urgency. "How long can we make do with what we've got?"

Jean-Luc's eyes flicked to the bag at Marie's side. "We're almost out of the good stuff. What you've got left will get us by for now, but we're going to have to scavenge more if we want to stay alive."

Heinrich spoke, his voice colder now, calculated. "We need to restock as much as possible at Saint-Vincent. But we can't linger too long. If the undead catch wind of us, they'll swarm the place. We'll be trapped."

Étienne pushed off from the tree, the weight of his injury settling heavily in his body. "Then let's move. We'll take what we can find, but we don't stop until we reach the village."

Jean-Luc raised an eyebrow. "Not even for a nap?"

Étienne gave him a sharp look, but there was no malice behind his words. "If we nap now, we'll be dead before sunrise."

Marie gathered her supplies, still watching Étienne closely. "We move now, and we move quickly. The road ahead may not be as clear as we think."

They moved off, the group falling into their grim routine as they headed down the path toward Saint-Vincent. The forest, though silent now, still carried the heavy weight of danger, the air thick with the scent of blood and decay. Every step they took was another step toward salvation or another step into a nightmare.

They could only hope that Saint-Vincent would be a refuge, a place where they could rest, regroup, and just maybe find answers.

But in this world, answers had a price. And survival was never guaranteed.