Ground Zero(7)

“The sergeant says that he appreciates your cooperation,” Mariam said to Baba and Pasoon, gesturing to the American. “He hopes we can put the past behind us and start over with a clean slate.”

“A clean slate?” Baba asked. “When they force their way into our homes? When they kill our people?”

“They killed my sister Hila!” Pasoon cried, glaring at the American. He turned to the Afghan soldiers. “And now you betray our country by working for them!” he snapped.

Reshmina’s father put a hand on Pasoon’s shoulder to calm him, but Pasoon shook him off

“This ‘past’ they speak of is our present,” Baba told Mariam. “Are we supposed to forget about our mothers and fathers, our sons and daughters, our brothers and sisters the Americans have killed in their attacks? If someone came along and killed a village of their people, would they say, ‘Ah well, time to start over with a clean slate’? Or would they swear revenge and promise never to forget?”

Reshmina wanted to cry. She hated the idea of revenge, but she too could never forget how the Americans had killed her sister. Sometimes she wished they could hurt as much as she did, just so they’d understand.

Mariam translated everything for the American soldier, expressing all their sorrow and frustration in English.

“Tell them not to let the Taliban into their village, and we’ll leave them alone,” the American said.

“Not let the Taliban in?” Reshmina cried in English, not waiting for Mariam to translate into Pashto. Baba and Pasoon couldn’t understand her words, but they looked surprised that she was speaking up. “How can we stop the Taliban when you won’t let us have weapons?” Reshmina asked.

“You always have a choice,” the American told her. “You can pick our side, or their side.”

“That’s no choice at all,” Mariam told the sergeant. “If these villagers side with the Americans, the Taliban will kill them. And if they side with the Taliban, you and the ANA will kill them. You’re telling them to choose death!”

“I’m sorry,” the sergeant said with a shrug. He moved on to the next house up the stairs, and the ANA soldiers followed him.

Mariam took a deep breath and looked at Reshmina. “I’m sorry too,” she said, and she left to join the soldiers.

“What was all that about?” Pasoon asked Reshmina. The last part of the conversation had all been in English.

“Nothing,” Reshmina said. Telling him would just make him angrier.

“I hate them,” Pasoon said, and he spat on the ground.

Baba went back inside the house, and Reshmina started up the stairs.

“Wait—where are you going?” Pasoon asked her.

“I’m following that translator,” Reshmina said.

“No, you can’t!” said Pasoon. He grabbed her arm and glanced over his shoulder.

“Pasoon, what are you doing?” Her brother was suddenly acting very strange.

“Nothing,” he said. “You just need to get your chores done. Come on. I’ll help you sweep the floor.”

Now Reshmina knew something was up. Pasoon never offered to help with her chores. She pulled herself free.

“Pasoon, what’s going on?”

Pasoon looked around warily, then pulled Reshmina into a shadow on the stairs.

“It’s the Taliban,” he whispered. “They started the rumor there were weapons in our village, to lure the soldiers here. Darwesh and Amaan told me yesterday. It’s a trap, Reshmina—the Taliban are going to attack the soldiers on their way out of the village!”





The elevator kept sliding down—and not the way it was built to. Brandon could feel how wrong it was in the pit of his stomach. From the horrified looks on their faces, the other passengers in the elevator felt it too.

“Hit the emergency stop button,” the blonde woman said.

Nobody moved. The elevator kept sliding. Above them, something groaned sickeningly.

“Hit the emergency stop!” the woman cried.

There was a loud chung! above them, and the floor of the car dropped like a stone. Brandon’s heart jumped into his throat, and he lunged for the control panel and slapped the red STOP button. The elevator’s emergency brakes grabbed hold with a squeal and the car jolted to a stop. Everyone tumbled to the ground, and then they were still.

Brandon’s breath came fast and hard, and he panted with fear. What had just happened?

Something smelled like it was burning, but not like a kitchen fire. It had a chemical tinge to it, like when you squirted lighter fluid on the burning charcoal in a grill.

The passengers stirred and helped each other to their feet. Brandon’s legs were trembling so much he almost couldn’t stand.

“What the heck just happened?” the big man in the blue blazer asked.

None of them had an answer.

“I rode out Hurricane Belle in this tower in ’76,” said Shavinder, the Windows on the World worker. “During the hurricane, the towers swayed back and forth five yards each way. But it was nothing like that.”

The silver-haired man clutched at the buttons on his shirt. “Good God, if this thing fell over, it’d reach all the way to Chinatown.”

Brandon blanched. The Twin Towers fall over?