Chapter 4: Lingering Shadows
Carol tightened her grip on her rifle as she and Claire moved through the dense underbrush, their steps softened by the damp earth. The fog had finally come to rest on the ground, swirling around their legs as they walked, it glowed in the light from the moon that was now directly overhead.
They stuck close to the riverbank as they moved, hoping to mask the sounds of their steps with the gentle lapping of the water against the shore.
"So you are American also?" Claire asked, her voice low. She and Carol walked side by side, their eyes constantly scanning the shadows.
"Mmhmm" Carol nodded. Glancing over at Claire as she surveyed the area ahead. "I've only been here trying to find Daryl."
"Well you are very lucky then, no? To be able to find him in what is left of the world." They took a few more steps, "You must really love him to come all this way."
"He's my best friend," Carol said, glancing behind them as the silhouette of a building finally came into view above the grass. "And I know that he would do whatever it took to find me."
They quickly surveyed the surrounding area before making their way inside.
The quiet of the empty house enveloped them as they moved carefully from room to room. Carol's eyes lingered on small details—a family photo faded beyond recognition, remnants of someone's life strewn across the floor. Her mind wandered back to memories of places she'd scavenged before, of long-abandoned homes where traces of people's former lives clung to the walls like echoes.
Claire glanced at Carol as she collected a few cloths, torn and weathered, but salvageable. "You and Daryl…you've known each other a long time, then?"
Carol nodded, her gaze distant as she picked up a small kettle and turned it over, wiping away some dust. "Feels like lifetimes," she murmured. "We've both been through a lot. Somehow, we always managed to survive."
Claire studied Carol for a moment. "Surviving is different from living."
Carol's eyes flicked up, meeting Claire's. She considered that for a moment, hearing the weight behind the words. "Sometimes, surviving's all you can do," she replied, a hint of sorrow in her voice.
They moved into the kitchen, and Carol handed the kettle to Claire, who stuffed it into her bag. "But Daryl," Carol continued, almost to herself, "he's one of the few people I know who'd go through hell and back for those he cares about."
Claire nodded, pulling a few utensils from a drawer and stashing them away. "It sounds like he has done exactly that. Isabelle—she speaks of him the same way. She is quiet, but there is much in her heart."
A faint smile crept onto Carol's face. "She's lucky, then." A beat passed as she glanced out a broken window to the river beyond. "They both are."
They finished their search, finding a few more supplies—bandages, a small stash of herbal teas long forgotten in a cupboard. As they prepared to head back out, Carol glanced around one last time, a lingering feeling tugging at her. This place, like so many they had left behind, held the remnants of lost lives. But now, she and Claire were taking what remained for the lives they fought to keep.
They stepped back outside into the moonlit night. The fog was still thick, casting an eerie, muted glow along the riverbank. Carol slung her bag over her shoulder, looking to Claire, who gave her a determined nod. They set off again, sticking close to the river as they moved southward, shadows stretching long in the moon's silvery light.
In the silence, Carol felt the faintest trace of hope—the kind that lingered just on the edge of dawn.
Etienne pushed through the overgrown weeds, his heart pounding as he made his way along the narrow path toward the old hotel. The building loomed ahead, its weathered facade a stark reminder of better days, now draped in shadows. Hôtel Mercure was still visible, though the weather tattered paint had faded and peeled in several areas. The bent metal frames, once housing glass doors, hung loosely in their frames like jagged teeth. He tightened his grip on the rifle slung across his back, the cold metal grounding him as he approached the entrance.
The wind rustled through the trees, carrying with it the faint smell of charred wood, from a fire burned and extinguished long ago. Etienne hesitated at the door, taking a moment to scan the surroundings. The windows were dark, the deteriorated awning creaking gently with the breeze. A sense of unease prickled at the back of his mind, but the desperate need for supplies drove him forward.
He stepped into the dimly lit lobby, the warped vinyl flooring creaking and cracking its dismay. Dust motes floated in the beams of moonlight filtering through the cracked windows, giving the space an otherworldly glow. A musty smell hung in the air, mingling with the scent of mold and decay. As he moved deeper into the hotel, he kept his senses alert, ears tuned for any sounds that might signal danger.
The lobby was eerily silent, but as he made his way toward the staircase, he heard a muffled noise from the floor above—a faint shuffling, then a soft voice. Etienne paused, straining to catch any further sound.
He cautiously climbed the staircase, each step creaking under his weight. The noise grew louder, punctuated by hushed whispers. Etienne reached the landing and moved toward the source of the sound, keeping low and quiet. Peeking around the corner, he spotted a flicker of light seeping from beneath a door at the end of the hall.
Drawing in a steadying breath, he approached the door and pressed his ear against it. He could make out a conversation, low and hurried, tinged with an urgency that set his heart racing.
"—can't stay here much longer," one voice said, strained and fearful. "They're going to find us."
"We need to move before the sun rises," another voice chimed in, a hint of panic underlying the words. "What if they come back?"
Etienne's pulse quickened. He felt an odd mix of hope and apprehension. These people were alive, but the fear in their voices was palpable. He stepped back from the door, considering his next move.
"Hey!" he called out, his voice steady but firm. "Is anyone in there?"
The conversation ceased abruptly, replaced by tense silence. After a moment, he heard hurried footsteps, and the door creaked open. A young man stood in the threshold, his eyes wide and wary, a small knife clutched in his hand.
"Who are you?" he demanded, scanning him up and down as if trying to discern if he was a threat.
"I'm Etienne," he replied, raising his hands slightly in a gesture of peace. "I'm not here to cause trouble." He stepped back slightly to show he was unarmed, except for his rifle slung across his back.
The man hesitated, glancing back over his shoulder before stepping aside. "You from The Nest?" Etienne nodded as he entered the room.
There were three others huddled together—two women and a boy of about fifteen, his facial hair still growing in light patches across his jaw, all looking equally wary. The atmosphere was tense, shadows dancing on the walls from a small candle flickering on a makeshift table.
"Come with me. There are a few of us at a cottage across the river. I came looking for supplies. I need cloth and anything else we can use."
The group exchanged glances, their expressions shifting from fear to a flicker of hope. After a brief moment of deliberation, the man spoke up. "We'll go."
"Then let's move quickly," Etienne urged, a sense of purpose igniting within him. "Follow me, and stay close."
As they exited the hotel, the shadows seemed to close in around them, but Etienne held onto the hope that flickered like a candle flame. He explained the supplies they needed and why. Most of them knew of Sister Isabelle, even if only for her relationship with Laurent. The younger boy had been in several of the same tutoring sessions, and had spent time with Laurent whilst the adults were busy preparing food and other things that held no interest to boys of their age.
The five of them made their way quietly down the street that once bustled and hummed with the traffic of bicycles and buses shuttling people from the numerous car parks and hotels to Mont-Saint-Michel.
The town had remained quaint, but frequented by those who came to take in the beauty of the beloved abbey and its surrounding flat lands. The streets were once lined with restaurants, small-roomed hotels and souvenir shops that catered to the millions of visitors who made their pilgrimage year after year. Now, the ghosts of what they once were stood hauntingly silent, their stone and mortar walls still standing the test of time. Some of them still looked as they did before the world fell apart. The time between now and then, a simple blink of an eye when compared to how long they stood before that.
They continued to move, the remnants of the town's charm palpable yet overshadowed by the pervasive quietude. An occasional rustle or the distant cry of a bird would startle them, causing them to snap to attention and stare into the shadows expectantly. It felt as if the town itself held its breath, waiting for something to break the stillness.
As they turned a corner, the moonlight broke through the trees, illuminating a small park where children once played. The swing sets stood still, rusted with time, and the slide was covered in debris. Etienne felt a pang of longing for the innocence of those days, a time when survival wasn't their only thought.
He led the group toward a cluster of buildings that had once served as guest houses for tourists visiting Mont-Saint-Michel. With luck, they might find more supplies tucked away in their forgotten corners.
"Let's check this one first," he suggested, pointing to a two-story structure with a sagging roof. Its windows were boarded up, but a few loose planks hung crookedly, offering an entry point. Etienne pushed aside the door with a gentle shove, the rusty hinges creaking in protest. Inside, the air was stale, filled with the scent of mildew and dust.
The lobby was mostly bare, but remnants of furniture lay scattered about, their shapes shrouded in darkness. "Split up and search for anything useful," Etienne instructed, his voice low. "Be quick but thorough. We can't linger long."
The group nodded, scattering into the shadows.
As he pushed through a door leading to the dining area, he noticed the remnants of a once vibrant space—tables and chairs scattered, and a large buffet that had toppled over, its contents long gone. The young man who had first opened the door joined him, peering into the drawer with a look of surprise. "I didn't think we'd find anything like this. It's still in good shape."
Etienne smiled, the glint of hope rekindled. "Every little bit helps. Let's keep looking."
Meanwhile, the two women had made their way to the kitchen, where the faint aroma of dried herbs lingered in the air. They rummaged through cabinets and drawers, uncovering several old cooking pots, a few cans of vegetables, and a half-empty bottle of cooking oil.
"Look what we found!" one of the women exclaimed, holding up a can of beans triumphantly. "It's not much, but it's something."
As they gathered their findings, the boy stepped into the dining area, a grin spreading across his face. "There's a little stash of clean cloths in the back room! I think they were meant for the restaurant's tables."
"Perfect!" Etienne replied. "We'll need those for bandages and to clean wounds. Let's take everything we can carry and head to the next building."
The group reconvened in the lobby, their packs they'd found now filled with supplies they hadn't anticipated finding.
"Let's move out," Etienne urged, glancing at the shadows outside. "We need to keep searching. There's more out there."
With renewed determination, they stepped back into the moonlight. Each building held the promise of more resources, and as they ventured forward, the hope that had ignited within them glowed brighter against the lingering shadows that surrounded them.