Total pages in book: 41
Estimated words: 39250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 196(@200wpm)___ 157(@250wpm)___ 131(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 39250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 196(@200wpm)___ 157(@250wpm)___ 131(@300wpm)
Sweet luxury, the last operator had left two foldable lawn chairs against the wall too.
“Thirty-two,” she answered.
So she was one step above from still being a damn baby.
Maybe it was because of how I’d lived my life, and all the suffering I’d seen, that I felt ancient these days. Anyone under thirty-five was a kid in my eyes, so don’t get me started on the twentysomething-year-old recruits at work. It was the one downside of the private military agency I’d dedicated much of my life to. They brought in a dozen or so former service members every year. I’d once been one of them.
“And you’re from Texas,” I stated. Thank fuck, we had firewood.
“Um, yes, but I haven’t lived there in ages. I’m in Annapolis now. Well…I was. It’s not like my apartment is waiting for me.”
Annapolis, the land of squids.
“How did you know? I don’t have an accent.”
I glanced back at her. “All right. I figured it out by the accent you don’t have.” Then I aimed the flashlight at the makeshift bed. It was elevated and put together with rocks. “You sleep there. I sleep on the ground.”
She eyed the bed and pursed her lips. They were…on the pouty side. “Okay.”
Attagirl. Don’t fucking complain.
If anyone should complain, it was me. Because I had to give her my fucking mattress.
In my seasoned years, I had succumbed to the engineering brilliance of a self-inflating air mattress. People with bad backs and shrapnel in their hip understood me.
First things first. I hung my flashlight on the hook on the door, opened the chimney, then started a fire in the woodstove, leaving the smaller hatch open to spread warmth and light. In the meantime, I asked Kiera how she knew her coworkers were still missing, to which she admitted to having reached out to her dad three months ago. He had apparently told her that the news had, in fact, reached the US.
After that, the girl went on a tangent. She rambled, a little emotional, about how worried her dad had been—and still was.
I remained in my position, squatting in front of the stove, gaze glued to the rising flames within the oven, and wondered how many of these tales I’d heard over the years. I’d witnessed plenty of reunions too. They kind of made my work worth it.
If nothing else, the happy endings at least prevented me from jumping off a cliff.
Eventually, I rose to my feet again and checked her passport. The age matched what she’d said. Issued in Maryland. It expired in two years.
“I’m sorry,” she said tearfully. “I totally went off on you. This is the first time I have the heart to hope.”
I got it.
“It’s fine.” I returned the passport to her and then opened my backpack. “Next question. How the hell have you stayed hidden in this country for six months?” I hauled out my mattress, then my sleeping bag, followed by a couple protein bars and my canteen.
Kiera released a breath. “That’s a longer story. Are you ready?”
I quirked a brow at her.
“That was my attempt to lighten the tension,” she told me.
Get on with it.
I suppressed a sigh and handed her the mattress. Goodbye, flexibility. I was gonna wake up stiff as a board tomorrow.
“Tough crowd,” she mumbled. “I kept to myself for a couple of days, and then I reached out to the woman we were supposed to deliver schoolbooks to the day after the ambush. She took me in. She kept me hidden in a small side building behind her house, where she secretly teaches her daughters to read.”
We hadn’t reached the juicy bits of the story yet. I was waiting to find out how she knew about the helicopter.
“I’m guessing they’re in Kabul.” I tossed her one of the meal bars.
“Thank you—uh, yes. She lives there with her husband, their three daughters, her brother, and their parents.”
Interesting. The resistance force was quiet but large, but to include the whole family seemed risky.
“You met them all?” I questioned.
“Not Noura’s parents,” she replied. “They were very careful about how much I could…you know, hear. Noura was the only one who introduced herself. I don’t know the husband’s name, the brother’s name, or two of the daughters.” She smiled faintly. “The youngest daughter slipped when she and I were alone. We decided it was a secret between us.”
That made more sense.
“Do they speak Dari or Pashto?” I wondered.
“Pashto.”
“And you?”
She flushed in the firelight. “I can get by, but nothing more. The youngest daughter taught me a little. She said she wants to become a teacher when she grows up.” She was fond of that girl—and sad about the unlikelihood of that dream becoming reality.
I nodded with a dip of my chin and bit into my meal bar. It was gonna have to suffice for now. I’d go fishing tomorrow. Maybe set up traps to catch a rabbit or two.