The sun had barely broken over the horizon when they finally reached the edge of the forest. The dense trees began to give way to fields that stretched out like a patchwork quilt of green and brown. Élodie's legs ached, her body trembling with exhaustion, but there was no time to stop. Vincent's condition was worsening, and every step toward the village was a step closer to a chance for his survival.
The village of Saint-Marc, nestled between hills, was a quiet place. On the surface, it seemed untouched by the chaos of the war. The simple stone houses with their terracotta roofs were peaceful, the streets devoid of any obvious signs of the horrors that had befallen the world. But Élodie knew better. The silence of the village was its own kind of threat, one that hid its darker truths beneath the surface.
Luc's sharp eyes scanned the area as they entered the outskirts, the familiar tension in his shoulders betraying his unease. "We need to be careful. If the Germans have any presence here, it will be subtle, but they'll be watching. Stay close, and don't attract attention."
Sophie nodded, her face pale, but her determination was as firm as ever. "We'll head to the house of the old healer, Simone. She's a widow and has been known to help those in need. If anyone can help Vincent, it's her."
They moved quickly, keeping to the shadows, the weight of their journey pressing down on them like a dark cloud. Élodie's heart pounded in her chest, but she focused on the path ahead, her thoughts consumed by Vincent. Every step felt like an eternity. She couldn't lose him—not like this. He had been there for her, fought alongside her when she had no one else to turn to.
It wasn't long before they found Simone's house, tucked away at the end of a narrow street, a humble cottage surrounded by an overgrown garden. The scent of herbs filled the air, and there was a sense of quiet peace about the place, but it didn't fool Élodie. Peace was a luxury they couldn't afford.
Luc knocked softly on the door, his hand poised to strike again if there was no answer. Moments later, the door creaked open, and a frail woman with graying hair appeared in the doorway. Her eyes darted to each of them, assessing their intentions with a cautious gaze.
"Luc? Is that you?" The woman's voice was low but firm. "I thought I heard voices."
Luc gave a small nod, a flicker of recognition in his eyes. "Simone. We need your help. There's a man here, badly hurt. He needs immediate care."
Simone's gaze flicked to the unconscious form of Vincent, then back to Luc. Without a word, she stepped aside, allowing them entry into the dimly lit house.
Inside, the air was thick with the smell of dried herbs and old wood. The walls were lined with shelves filled with jars and bottles, some labeled, others not. A fire burned in the hearth, casting flickering shadows across the room.
"Bring him over here," Simone instructed, her voice steady as she motioned to a small cot near the fire. "I'll do what I can, but it won't be easy. I'll need to see how bad it is."
Sophie and Élodie carefully moved Vincent onto the cot, his body limp and pale. Élodie stood back, her fingers twitching with the urge to help, but Simone shooed her away, motioning for her to stay out of the way.
The healer's hands moved swiftly, checking Vincent's pulse, his breathing, the condition of his injuries. A tense silence fell over the room as they all waited for her to speak.
After what felt like an eternity, Simone looked up, her expression grim. "He's been through a lot. There's blood poisoning in his wound, and the fever is only making it worse. If we don't treat it quickly, he won't survive the night."
Élodie's heart clenched in her chest. She had known Vincent's condition was dire, but hearing the words out loud was like a dagger to her heart. She couldn't lose him—not now.
"What do we need to do?" Sophie asked, her voice hoarse, her eyes darting between Élodie and the healer.
Simone's gaze shifted to the shelf, where she kept her supplies. "I'll need certain herbs to make a poultice for the wound. And I'll need you to watch over him while I prepare it. Time is of the essence."
Without hesitation, Élodie stepped forward, determined to do whatever it took. "I'll help. What can I do?"
Simone studied her for a moment, then nodded. "Prepare some water for washing the wound. It will need to be cleaned before I can apply anything. The rest… I'll guide you."
The next few hours passed in a blur of urgent action. Simone worked tirelessly, her hands moving with practiced efficiency as she tended to Vincent's injuries. Élodie did everything she could to assist, her hands shaking with both fear and adrenaline. They had no other choice but to trust Simone and her skill, hoping that the healer's touch would be enough to save Vincent's life.
As the day wore on, Élodie couldn't help but notice the tension between Luc and Sophie. It was subtle, but it was there—a quiet friction that simmered just beneath the surface. She didn't need to be told what it was. She had seen the way they looked at each other when they thought no one was watching.
But now, there was no room for such things. There was no room for anything except survival.
By nightfall, Simone had done all she could. The poultices were applied, the fever had broken, but Vincent was still unconscious. There was no telling if he would wake up, if he would survive through the night.
They huddled together in the small cottage, the weight of the day pressing down on them. The quiet was deafening, the only sound the crackling of the fire in the hearth.
Luc finally spoke, his voice low and filled with a quiet resolve. "We've made it this far, but this is just the beginning. We can't stay here long. The Germans will be looking for us."
Élodie nodded, her mind already racing ahead to the next steps. "We'll move again at dawn. But we need to get Vincent well enough to travel. We can't leave him behind."
Sophie and Luc exchanged a look, one filled with unspoken understanding, before Luc spoke again. "Agreed. We'll leave when we can, but we won't leave anyone behind."
Élodie felt a flicker of hope spark within her chest. It was small, fragile, but it was there. As long as they were alive, as long as they fought, there was a chance. And that was all she needed to keep going.