Scouting

Your legs feel like stone. Every step is an argument between your will and your body—your will keeps winning, but only just.

The sun’s down to its last breath, bleeding orange across the jagged ridges of the red hills.

You and your mom crest the rise of a plateau overlooking a cracked basin. The old oil facility lies just beyond, tucked behind rusted piping, gutted silos, and fencing that’s been patched and repatched with barbed wire and scrap metal.

You crouch low, your boots grinding into sun-baked rock. Your mom scans the area with her eyes, breathing shallow. She’s tired—you both are. But her hands are steady as ever when she unslings her rifle and begins to sweep for high ground.

“There,” she says, pointing to a jagged outcrop near the northern bluff. “That ridge gives me a full view of the compound’s eastern wall. Elevated. Wind’s against them. If they poke their heads out, I’ll count eyelashes.”

You nod, glancing up toward the slope she’s marked. It’s a climb. But not one you’d trust anyone else with.

You help her up the last few meters, offering a hand as she scrambles over a boulder, grunting under her breath. She sets up fast—no wasted movement, no hesitation. Years of experience, always more comfortable laying prone behind a rifle.

You lie beside her, peering past the rocks as she pulls her scope into place. A soft click. Then stillness.

“Report?” you ask, voice low.

Your mom exhales through her nose and adjusts her scope.

“Main building—centre of the compound,” she says. “One entrance, reinforced. Guard rotation: four men, no pattern. Sloppy. Could be more inside.”

She adjusts again.

“South side has a shack—maybe storage. Another guard posted. Cigarette in his mouth, not even holding his weapon right.”

She pauses. Zooms in.

“Sniper nest on the water tower. Could be trouble. But he’s lazy. Keeps scanning the wrong direction.”

You nod, taking it all in. Your brain begins assembling angles, timing, distance—calculating.

“Third structure, smaller. Looks like it used to be admin. No lights. But someone’s in there. Movement in the window... brief.”

You glance at her.

“Norah?”

“Could be.”

You both fall quiet. Just the wind between the rocks, and the hum of something terrible coming closer.

You look down at the compound again.

And whisper, more to yourself than to her. “Let’s bring her home.”