The first checkpoint rose like a scar across the dirt road, just beyond a crumbling bridge flanked by banana trees and stone ruins. Three Spanish soldiers stood under a wooden arch, lazily cradling their rifles while smoke from their cigarettes curled into the humid air. A fourth leaned on a barrel, eyes half-lidded but alert.
Patrocinio's grip tightened on the reins. Her heart thudded as if it too had something to hide.
Beside her, Andres, at least by name—shifted slightly in his seat, straightening his back despite the pain. She could feel his tension radiating through the bench. He was calm, but too quiet.
"Remember what I told you," she whispered under her breath. "When I start yelling, you play along. No smirking, no looking noble. Meek husband. You let me do the talking."
"Meek. Got it," he muttered. "Though I'd argue this entire situation is—"
"Don't argue," she snapped. "That's my job."
As they neared the checkpoint, she launched into a tirade.
"I told you not to take the river path!" she barked, leaning forward, loud enough for the guards to hear. "But no! You said it would be faster—faster to get lost in the mud!"
One of the guards perked up. The others stifled grins.
"I swear by all the saints," she continued, "if your brain were made of gunpowder, it wouldn't be enough to blow your nose!"
Andres ducked his head and sighed. "I was only trying to help."
"You help by letting me drive the cart and not opening your mouth unless it's to apologize!"
The guard at the front stepped forward, smirking. "Trouble on the honeymoon?" he asked in Spanish.
Patrocinio switched languages without missing a beat. "Trouble? He's lucky I haven't thrown him into the river."
The soldiers laughed.
"Go," he said, waving them through. "Before she really throws you off the cart."
As they passed beyond the arch, Patrocinio let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding.
Andres finally looked at her. "You were incredible."
She didn't smile. "You hesitated. Next time you do that, we might not be so lucky."
"I'm not used to pretending I'm married," he said, voice low.
She glanced sideways. "Then you'd better learn fast. We're only getting started."
The road curved into denser forest after the checkpoint. Shadows draped across the trail like veils, muting the daylight and bringing silence between them. Patrocinio focused on the road, her lips tight.
"Do you think they suspected anything?" he asked eventually.
"No," she said. "Not today. But the more we talk, the more likely you'll say something stupid."
He gave a small, humorless chuckle. "You're good at this."
She shrugged. "You'd be good too if you'd had to survive checkpoints since you were a girl. If you'd seen the look in a soldier's eyes when he thinks you're smuggling something. Or someone."
He looked down. "I haven't."
"Exactly."
The silence returned. But this time, it was less sharp. More thoughtful.
Eventually, they stopped near a stream to rest the horse. Andres climbed down gingerly, holding his side. Patrocinio fetched water and filled a battered tin cup. She handed it to him without a word.
"Thanks."
She didn't reply, instead crouching by the water to splash her face. When she turned back, he was staring—not at her, but at the hills.
"I recognize this place," he murmured. "I've seen it in photos. There's a battle that happens here in a few days. Ambush from the ridge."
Her eyes narrowed. "You remember that from your books?"
He nodded. "More or less. History lessons. Before... before all this."
She stood, water dripping from her jaw. "You speak like a man who knows things he shouldn't. I don't know what to make of you."
"Neither do I."
A pause passed between them.
"I just know that what you're carrying—what we're carrying—matters. And I don't want to screw it up."
She stared at him. The words didn't sway her, but the honesty in them did.
"You really believe this flag changes something?" she asked.
"I think it already did.The fact that you even dared to carry it. That alone changed everything."
She turned away before he could see her expression soften.
Later, the road opened to an overlook. From their perch, the valley stretched wide, dotted with distant houses and smoke trails from cooking fires. Somewhere far below, a child's laughter echoed faintly.
Andres reached inside his coat and pulled out a small, tattered photo—creased and faded. A woman, smiling, holding a baby. Not in this time. His.
Patrocinio saw it, though she said nothing.
"Your wife?"
He nodded. "Was."
She didn't ask more. But the shadow in his eyes lingered.
They rode on until dusk, the sky turning a soft red-orange, shadows lengthening across the trail. The next checkpoint was still a few kilometers away, but the night would fall faster than expected.
"Tonight we'll sleep in the tree line," Patrocinio said. "There's an old hut by the rice paddies. Safer than the road."
He nodded, and for a moment, they rode in perfect rhythm.
Two strangers. Bound by a flag.
And a story only they could write.