Ground Zero(16)

Reshmina looked at her father in surprise. The base was almost five kilometers from here. It would be a hard journey on foot for anyone, let alone a man on a crutch.

“Someone else should go, Baba,” Marzia told him, speaking up for the first time since she’d seen Taz.

Their father shook his head. “It must be me. Our family has offered this man refuge. He is our responsibility.”

Reshmina felt a jumble of emotions. She would have gladly gone in Baba’s place, but no family would ever send a daughter to an army base alone. Pasoon could have gone instead, but he had made it clear he no longer stood with his family.

Reshmina turned back to Taz and explained in English what her father planned to do. Taz thanked him again and pulled the strip of cloth that read LOWERY off his uniform with a loud ripping sound. “Give this to your father,” he said. “I’m special forces, assigned to advise the base he’s going to. Tell him to show this to the Afghan soldiers there, and they’ll know I’m really here.”

Baba took the strip of cloth from Reshmina. “Keep Zahir in the room whenever one of you is with the soldier,” he said, and she understood. Neither she nor Marzia nor Anaa nor her mother would be allowed in the same room as Taz without a male member of the family as a chaperone. Zahir was hardly a helpful escort, but he still counted.

Baba left the house, and Taz lay back to rest. Anaa sent Marzia for hot water and a cloth to clean Taz’s wounds, and Mor called angrily from the kitchen for the firewood Reshmina was supposed to have collected.

“The firewood!” Reshmina said. Twice today her chores had been interrupted. “I’ll be back,” she told Anaa, then said the same to Taz in English.

He was already asleep.

“Marzia and I will watch over him,” Anaa told her, and Reshmina ran out the back door.

The goats bleated at her, angry they hadn’t been taken up into the mountains to graze. Reshmina stopped. Where was Pasoon? When her brother wanted to go somewhere and be mad, he disappeared into the hills with the goats and didn’t come back until he’d calmed down.

What if this time he really had gone to join the Taliban?

No. Reshmina couldn’t believe he’d do it. Still, something itched at the back of her brain. Today had been different in so many ways—the raid, the woman translator, the American soldier in their home.

What if Pasoon seeing Taz really was the last straw for her brother?

There was one sure way to know.

Reshmina ran around the side of the house, her heart hammering in her chest. Halfway along the wall sat an upside-down white plastic bucket. Reshmina climbed on top of it, reached as high as she could, and found the little hole in the wall where Pasoon always hid his toy airplane.

It was empty.

Reshmina knew Pasoon had put the plane back after the Americans left. Of the few things Pasoon owned, that toy was the one thing her brother would never leave behind.

If it was gone now, Pasoon was too.

Gone to join the Taliban and tell them Taz was alive and hiding in their home. If Pasoon got to the Taliban before their father got to the ANA base …

Reshmina hopped off the bucket and sprinted for the goat path that led up into the mountains. She didn’t go back to tell anyone where she was headed. She didn’t have time.

Reshmina had to catch her brother and stop him from joining the Taliban.





Brandon stopped to catch his breath. The narrow stairwell was well lit, with white walls and gray steps outlined in what looked like glow-in-the-dark paint. Railings ran down both sides, and at each floor there was a metal door and a small sign telling you where you were.

This was Stairwell A, and right now Brandon had it all to himself. It was hot and stuffy, and there was a tinge of smoke in the air. Sweat beaded on Brandon’s forehead, and he wiped it away. He was only on the 87th floor.

It was time to get moving again.

Brandon wasn’t in bad shape. He loved skateboarding for hours every weekend, and at third-grade field day last year he had won the obstacle course race—forward and backward. But walking up steps in this heat was more tiring than any of that.

Brandon’s foot splashed on the next step, and he froze. Something clear and wet was running down the stairs from above. It looked like water, but Marni’s husband had said a jet plane accidentally hit the building. What if this wasn’t water at all, but something more dangerous? Like jet fuel?

Whatever the stuff was, more of it came cascading down the stairs, creating a little waterfall, and suddenly Brandon was surrounded. He couldn’t go up or down without splashing through it, and he had to go up, to get to his dad.

Hand squeezing the railing, heart thumping, Brandon bent down low to sniff at the liquid.

Nothing. It didn’t smell like anything. Especially not gas. Brandon actually liked the smell of gasoline—it reminded him of go-carts and fishing boats—and this liquid had no hint of gas. It was water, Brandon guessed. Maybe from the sprinklers that had to be going off wherever the fire was.

Was Windows on the World on fire? Was his dad all right?

Brandon felt another terrible pang of guilt at having left without telling his dad. Was his father up there somewhere, searching floor after floor to find him? Was he calling 911 to tell them his son was lost?

They were a team, and Brandon had let the team down. Again.

Brandon’s dad had done his best to keep them afloat after his mom died. His dad had often gone the extra mile too, like when he’d bought Brandon a new skateboard even though money was tight, or when he’d stayed up late helping Brandon with his math homework.