It was a peaceful new day that had begun in Tourgéville. Even before the blackout, not much happened there. It was a small commune close to Deauville, a town quite popular with vacationers in the summer seeking coolness and a calming setting. Located on the shores of the English Channel in Normandy, far from the hustle and bustle of big cities like Paris, it was ideal for raising a family.
This tranquility was shattered during the blackout, and once again, to a lesser extent, when the inhabitants saw a solitary rider dressed in black and wearing a shining breastplate arrive.
I hope my parents are still here and doing well, thought Pierre Marchais, ignoring the curious glances that weighed heavily on him.
He had made a long journey to get here. He had traveled 190 kilometers (118 miles) in four days, where a few hours would have been enough before the blackout. He had simply followed the A13 motorway to Pont-l'Évêque without entering it, then took the A132 motorway which became a departmental road just before Deauville.
This journey, much longer than estimated, had exhausted him. He could have certainly gone faster, but he didn't want to tire his mount unnecessarily.
Anyway, he thought afterwards, there were too many trucks to search along the way.
Indeed, all he had seen coming here were abandoned vehicles and road wrecks. Everyone was exhausted, hungry, and dehydrated.
How many times had he been hailed to ask what was happening and where he came from? He couldn't remember, as he had stopped counting quickly because there were so many. One of them had even tried to steal his horse while he was busy searching a truck carrying merchandise. Fortunately, he had reacted in time. The man had the fright of his life when he saw Pierre emerge from the truck with his saber in hand.
This event had taught him a lesson.
From these trucks, he had extracted a large quantity of food and water, enough not to worry for the remainder of his journey and even beyond, because when these trucks transported something, it was by pallets! One of them carried three pallets of water, flat and sparkling, from different brands, and enough fruits and vegetables to open and supply a grocery store for a few days, probably less now that people were desperate.
Pierre's parents had a beautiful house with a garden right next to the church of Tourgéville. There was a high hedge all around the property that had been trimmed a few days before the blackout, a few trees, and a vegetable garden. He immediately noticed when he arrived in front of the white plastic gate that the house hadn't changed a bit since he left nearly ten years ago. The lawn was still well maintained, a sign that his parents were still very attentive to this point. He had given them an autonomous electric lawnmower to help them in the garden for Christmas two years ago, but he had learned the following Christmas that it had been used only once, because his father preferred to do it himself. For some obscure reason, his father, Joël Marchais, liked to mow his lawn with his old gasoline mower.
He dismounted from his horse and led it to the gate, which he opened with one hand. The yellow gravel driveway was clean without even the shadow of a weed. The sound of his riding boots on the gravel caught the attention of his father and mother, both of whom were in the garden. They were enlarging the vegetable patch.
Joël was equipped with a sieve to remove the bulk of the roots, and there were many very small and very dense ones. His mother, Amandine, was kneeling in the grass in her work clothes, holding a large clod of earth and grass in her hands.
Both watched him advance down the driveway with his horse.
"Pierre?! "
"Is it really you?!"
He felt like an alien landing in their beautiful garden.
"Hello, Dad. Hello, Mom.
"Oh, my boy! We were so worried!"
Joël and Amandine Marchais hugged their son tightly and affectionately. Although they had drifted apart, Pierre remained and would forever remain their precious son.
Amandine had tears in her eyes seeing him after so long. She hadn't seen him since the holidays, but it felt like an eternity. This feeling was exacerbated by the fact that Pierre now had a small brown beard when he had been clean-shaven since he was old enough. She thought he looked a lot like his father when he was young. They were so similar it was shocking.
"Pierre, where did this horse come from?" asked Amandine, stroking the animal.
"I bought it in Paris," replied Pierre flatly. "Since all the cars are broken down, I didn't have many other means to get away."
"So you really come from Paris," nodded Joël with his usual serious expression. "What's it like there?"
"It's chaos. People have gone completely mad. From the first day, there were looting and rioting. It was madness. Everyone was either looting or panicking at home. Now that there's nothing left to steal in the stores, those who haven't looted are panicking twice as much because they have nothing to eat."
"And... And the police? How are they reacting?"
"They can't do anything, Mom. If it were just a few people, it would be manageable, but there... From what I've seen, when they arrested someone, there were ten who managed to get away. And they must not have places to hold them or a judge to convict them anymore. They're overwhelmed."
"I see. Well, I'm glad we don't live in a big city. In Deauville, it's much quieter, even though there have been some problems."
"It's not comparable, honey. Paris, well, it's Paris. There are a few high-rise buildings in Deauville, but it's quiet here, very touristy. But that's not the biggest problem."
Joël's face had become extremely serious. From memory, Pierre had never seen him so grim.
"Listen to me, Pierre, you have to leave here as soon as possible."
"Huh? Why? What's going on?"
"It's very dangerous here. We've made our decision, but you're young. You have to live a long life."
"But what's wrong, Dad?!"
Pierre's usually stoic face had broken in the face of his father's worrying tone.
"The nuclear power plants exploded four or five days ago. Those of Flamanville and Paluel. We're right between the two."
"Oh my God!" exclaimed Pierre, putting a hand over his mouth, struggling to grasp the full extent of this new information. "Are... Are you sure about what you're saying?"
"Now, it's daytime, but at night you can see bright streaks to the east and west. We heard the explosions. Look at the grass and the hedge. Look at the trees. Everything is dying."
Looking more closely around him, Pierre indeed noticed that the vegetation didn't look good. There was a pine tree in the garden, and its needles had turned red like rust. It couldn't be a good sign.
"But you have to leave, get away from here!"
"Son, I know what nuclear is. I studied it. Running away doesn't do much good. Europe is covered with power plants like those in Flamanville. If they've all exploded, then soon all of Europe will be contaminated, much more than after the Chernobyl accident. If you go far enough, maybe you'll live longer than us. Maybe you'll even be able to live a normal life."
"And... And you? Why don't you want to leave?!"
Joël and Amandine Marchais smiled seeing their son display so much emotion as before. It was his mother who replied, placing a warm hand on his shoulder.
"It's our home, my darling. The fruit of our work and that of our parents. We've put all our savings and so much time and energy into it. If we leave, then it will be looted, occupied, and rot over time. Your father and I don't want that."
Pierre said nothing and shed a small tear.
"Don't look at us like that!" Joël said with a big smile. "We're grown-ups! Go as far as possible from the power plants, to Brittany for example."
"In Brittany?"
"You won't be safe, but you'll certainly be less exposed. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Dad. I understand."
"Good. Come here."
The old man opened his arms and hugged his son tightly. From an outside perspective, it looked very much like farewells. Amandine couldn't help but burst into tears at the sight. Pierre's mother had always been very sensitive. He had made her cry a lot when he had left for the capital to pursue his dream of greatness and wealth.
They entered the family home and ate a good meal together, heated as in the old days in a pot in the fireplace. It had had time to blacken from being placed over flames as lively. The meal consisted of a simple canned cassoulet but was greatly appreciated by the former trader. In recent days, he had eaten only cans of mackerel in mustard with chips and fruit for dessert.
They talked at length, and because they had much to say, it was quite naturally decided that Pierre would stay overnight at home. His horse was left semi-free in the garden and securely tied up before nightfall.
Pierre had a strange feeling when he saw his childhood room again. His bed, his wardrobe, his desk, everything was still there, almost as he had left them. It didn't smell musty, a sign that his parents came regularly to air out the room. They had also taken the liberty, but how could he blame them after so many years, to store a few boxes there.
In the wardrobe was still his plastic crate containing all his old toys. Most of them were not in very good condition. Among other things, he found one of his favorite toys: a Ninja Turtle about thirty centimeters high, armed with two Japanese swords. He couldn't help but smile as he took the toy in his hands and moved its arms a little. Moving the left arm made the right arm move mechanically.
There was also his old remote-controlled car that hadn't worked for years without him knowing why, a castle to create great adventures for his knight figurines and his dragon, a few small racing cars, and quite a number of Playmobil figures. When he was a child, he loved to create stories. Sometimes he mixed genres to make completely crazy stories.
He remembered the time when his Viking Playmobil figures traveled through time and met modern Playmobil figures. He had a mailman, a policeman, a firefighter, a doctor, a woman and her child (who, incidentally, had lost an arm during another epic adventure), and so on.
On his desk were many souvenirs he hadn't seen in a long time. There were diplomas, newspaper articles, and photographs. In one of them, he was seen smiling with his parents on the beach in front of a huge sandcastle. His father was much thinner then and was just starting to have white hair. His mother was wearing a black swimsuit, a big pair of sunglasses, and a large straw hat with a pink ribbon.
I remember that day. It was very beautiful and terribly hot. We spent hours building that castle with Dad. Because I didn't put sunscreen on properly, I got a bad sunburn on my thigh. We stayed until the tide came up and destroyed the castle. We made a dike all around, but it didn't protect it. But we had a good laugh. We even made a tunnel underneath! And then we had an ice cream! If I could go back in time for a day, I think I would choose that one.
Pierre moved away from the desk and saw a familiar object also laden with memories.
"Ah, my first model."
His father loved two things: his garden and his models. He had started making them long before retiring. He did a bit of everything: cars, planes, boats. This was the first one they had made together. It was a German tow truck from the Second World War. He was very proud of it, even now. He had made several alone, but this one was the most important simply because it was the first and it had been made with his father.
This house is really full of memories. I can understand why Mom and Dad don't want to leave. But it really hurts me.
Pierre yawned loudly and blew out his candle. Slowly, he slipped into his bed and closed his eyes.