She took my hand and we walked for another mile or two over rough terrain. We’ve been hiking for two days now and I was about to call it quits.
“It’s just over this ridge,” she said. How many times has she said that. Three times. Four? And the heat is setting in, it seems.
I adjusted my backpack and continued behind her. How much more can I take?
We trekked up the next hill and she stopped at the top. Gasping for air, I stretched to meet her. My hands on my knees, begging for air. I stretched out my back and looked up.
“Here ya go, honey,” she said resting her hands on her hips. I hate that she’s in shape and when in the hell did she find the time to get in shape?
I shielded the sun from my eyes and looked down to where she was pointing. And, oh shit, there it is: a single standing door in the middle of the desert. I couldn’t believe it. She was right.
She looked back at me, bit her lip, turned, and slid down the sandy hill. I followed after her.
