Double Time

You and your mom have been moving double-time for hours. The sun is merciless, the ground loose beneath your boots.

You’re a machine now. Focused. Sweating through your shirt, water bottle clutched in one hand, your mom’s long-range rifle strapped across your back alongside your own gear. You didn’t ask when you took it. She didn’t argue.

She’d started to lag behind—just a half-step, maybe more.

When you stripped the weapon from her shoulder, she just gave you that look. Tired, annoyed, understanding.

Now, you march together again, both soaked in sweat, boots crunching against dry, cracked earth.

“You’re pushing too hard,” she says, breath heavy.

You drink, wiping your mouth, not stopping. “We don’t have time.”

She walks beside you, shoulder brushing yours. “You keep moving like this, you’ll reach the compound with nothing left in the tank.”

You don’t answer at first. Letting the silent air speak for you.

“She’s the last part of him.”

Your mom glances at you.

You continue. “Dad."

Your grip tightens around your bottle.

Your mom doesn’t say anything for a moment. She slows just a little, eyes scanning the horizon, and her voice drops into something softer.

“Your father told me a story once,” she says.

You glance at her, but she’s looking ahead.

“When they were kids, your dad and Norah used to sneak out of school and steal fruit from a market vendor. They were poor, hungry, always in trouble. But your father told me—with pride—that Norah never got caught. Not once.”

A small smile flickers on her lips.

“Your father would get slapped. Caned. Chased through alleys. And Norah would be sitting on the roof of their house, eating stolen peaches, laughing her ass off while he limped home.”

You laugh under your breath—dry, short, but real.

You both fall silent again for a while. Just the wind, and your footsteps. But something eases inside your chest, like someone finally let go of a string that had been pulled too tight.

You look at her. “Why didn’t he ever talk about her?”

Your mom shrugs. “Because he thought she’d never come back. That she had abandoned him.”

You nod once, wiping sweat from your brow. “She did.”

“She always did,” she says quietly. "I guess she just took too long this time."