Waking Up

The sun hasn't risen yet, but the sky is beginning to peel back the night in shades of grey and blue. The chill clings to your skin, more noticeable now that the adrenaline’s drained from your veins. The rocks of the sniper’s perch are cold beneath you, and the silence is broken only by the faint sound of Norah’s shallow, ragged breathing.

She’s lying on her side, wrapped in your mom’s jacket, resting against a makeshift pillow of your gear. You cleaned her wounds the best you could with a bottle of water and a rag torn from your shirt.

Beside her, your mother sleeps with her back against the rock wall, arms crossed, sniper still within reach.

You sit cross-legged near Norah, hands restless, eyes scanning the ridgelines and valleys below. You're high enough to see the route back to Kharbat al-Nour, the same path you stormed through not long ago.

The Russians were due any day now.

You check the bolt on your rifle again for the third time. Just to do something.

Eventually, your mother stirs. She doesn’t speak at first—just blinks herself awake, notices your pacing energy, and exhales deeply through her nose. “Can’t sleep?” she asks, her voice rasped by the cold and dust.

She rubs her eyes and sits up beside you, scanning Norah. “She’s still breathing,” she murmurs, tone soft.

You nod. “We have to move.”

Your mother stretches, groaning a little, then looks at you with calm disapproval. “And how do you expect her to walk? On shattered legs? With cracked ribs and no food in her body?”

“We can carry her.”

“You won’t make it twenty kilometres in this heat with that weight and your wounds. Neither will she.”

You clench your jaw, turning away from her.

“I can’t just sit here,” you mutter, teeth grinding. “If they show up while we’re out here—”

Your mom cuts in, voice firm but level. “Then we pray the men do what we trained them to do. That’s the risk you took when you came for her.”

You exhale sharply. Bitter. But she’s right.

After a while of silent waiting with your mother, you hear a shift in breath, barely there.

Then a groan.

You’re beside Norah in an instant, kneeling, careful not to startle. Her eyes flutter open, bloodshot and swollen.

“Hey,” you murmur.

She blinks slowly.

You lift the water bottle to her mouth, steady as you can. “Small sips.”

She drinks. Each swallow is painful to watch—deliberate, shaky, like her throat’s learning how to work again.

Your mom crouches down beside you, her eyes softer than usual as she lays a steadying hand on Norah’s shoulder.

For a long while, the three of you just sit in silence.

Then, in a voice so faint you almost miss it, Norah whispers, “…Thank you.”

You look at her. “You don’t have to thank us.”

Your mother nods, a tired smile brushing her lips. “We’d do anything for family.”

You glance at her, then back at Norah. “Even new ones.”

Norah tries to smile. It doesn’t quite reach her eyes, but it’s something.

You hesitate. Then ask, softly, “Can you tell us what happened?”

The air thickens instantly. Your mom shoots you a sharp look, not cruel—but hard. “John.”

Norah shifts slightly. Her eyes close for a long breath. And then, she speaks. “It’s… patchy,” she says, voice strained. “I got as far as the second warlord. Something felt wrong, but I kept going.”

She swallows, eyes glassy now.

“They ambushed me on the road. Took the bike. Stripped me of gear. Phones... everything. I think they were contractor.”

Your mom leans forward, her voice soft. “You don’t have to say more.”

Norah nods faintly. “I can’t, anyway. It’s… blurry. The days bleed. I remember… hands. Voices. Pain.”

Your mother takes Norah’s hand gently. “What matters is you’re here now. You’re with us.”

Norah’s eyes drift closed again, the exhaustion claiming her slowly. “I didn’t think anyone would come for me…”

Night arrives quietly.

You and your mother sit cross-legged near a low, crackling fire tucked between rocks to keep the light low. The air is cooler now, dry and still.

A half-empty pot of boiled rations simmers between you, the scent bland and earthy. It isn’t much—but it’s warm, and it’s food.

You both eat in silence for a while. You hand your mom a dented metal cup of water, and she takes it with a nod.

“She’s still sleeping,” you say, glancing toward Norah. She’s curled up under your jacket, her breath slow but steady, face softened by rest.

“She needed it,” Your mom replies. “Her body’s still in shock.”

You stir the pot with a dull spoon. “How long do you think we’ve got until they notice she’s gone?”

“Depends," she says. Then adds, “But even if they do… we have bigger problems.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“The village,” she continues.

“Another attack would tear them apart.”

She nods.

You’re about to respond—when Norah jolts upright with a gasp, clutching the dirt beneath her, eyes wide like she’s being dragged out of drowning.

You’re both on your feet in a heartbeat, rushing to her.

“Hey—hey! Norah!” you say, kneeling beside her.

Your mother’s hand gently touches Norah’s shoulder. “You’re alright.”

Norah looks between you, still half-lost in the moment. Her eyes search your faces like she’s checking if you’re real. Then, slowly, her breathing calms. She nods.

“I… I remember something,” she says, her voice rough with sleep and trauma. “Back there. When they had me.”

You and your mom exchange a look.

“Talk to us,” you say gently.

Norah presses a hand to her temple, trying to string it together. “They weren’t Russian military. I know that now.”

Your mom frowns. “Contractors?”

Norah nods. “Wagner.”

Your stomach turns.

She continues. “They weren’t answering to Moscow. Not directly.”

Norah speaks again, slower this time. “That’s not all. There was a woman. Russian. High-ranking. I didn’t see her, but I heard her voice. They deferred to her.”

Your mother’s eyes sharpen. “You remember a name?”

Norah closes her eyes, thinking hard. Her face twists in frustration—then steadies.

“Kuznetsova,” she says finally. “General Irina Kuznetsova.”