Giver her one of your AK

You stop under the awning of a burned pharmacy, pull one of the AK's off your back, and shove it into her hands.

“Hold this.”

She almost drops it, must be because the rifle is longer than her arm.

“Do you know how to use one?”

She shakes her head, eyes wide.

You sigh, take it back and flip the safety lever with your thumb so she can see.

“This is safe, this is single and this is full. Keep it on safe until I say so. Point at what you hate and pull trigger until it stops moving, don’t point at me.”

You hand it over again. She cradles it like a sick cat.

You start walking. She hurries to keep up.

Two blocks of silence. Then she speaks, voice low.

“You didn’t have to save me.”

“I know.”

Another block.

“You didn’t have to give me a gun.”

“I know.”

She glances sideways. “You don’t talk much.”

“You were told not to talk.”

A tiny laugh escapes her. “You’re bad at following your own orders.”

You snort despite yourself. “I was trying to sound cool.”

That gets a real smile, small and crooked, but real.

“I like the quiet version better,” she says.

Something loosens in your chest you didn’t know was knotted.

“What’s your name?” you ask.

“Lina.”

You nod once but don’t give yours. She doesn’t ask again.

By the fifth block she’s carrying the rifle better, finger off the trigger and muzzle down. She walks half a step closer than before.

The sixth block ends at the plaza. The cathedral looms ahead, doors hanging open and lamplight spilling onto the steps like it’s waiting.

You stop at the edge of the shadows. Lina stops beside you, shoulder brushing yours. Neither of you moves away.

“Ready?” you ask.

She looks up at you, eyes steady now. She gives a shaky nod. You look at her and smile. She doesn't even know why or what were doing.

You don’t say anything else. You don’t need to. It's time for a plan.