“What kind of beasts do such things?”

   Rebecca peered out of the window to gaze back at the van. As they rounded a corner, she saw Megan and waved. Megan was such a pleasant person and had helped Rebecca immensely when she first arrived in Kabul a month before Ron joined her. Rebecca wondered if there were a better way of asking Megan to leave her Bible at home — for her own safety.

   Now I sound just like Ron, Rebecca thought and rejected any idea of an intervention. It’s none of my business. Megan’s a big girl; she can handle herself! 

   The roads were almost empty most  of the time they traveled. Rebecca had seen three shrouded female figures following a man. Covered from head to foot in full tent-like white burkas, they have been called shuttlecocks by a friend of Rebecca’s . Where were they going? she wondered. There wasn’t any sign of human inhabitation in sight!.   Then, there was the man on a bike struggling to keep his balance as he rode over the inhospitable terrain. How far would he have to pedal to get to his destination?

              Besides, she spotted the farmer with his donkey cart so overloaded with produce it threatened to tip over at any moment. The weak animal could barely move and brayed loudly in protest. His master had to assist by pushing the cart to keep it going.  

              That’s all of six creatures; unless you count the donkey, she giggled inwardly. Where are all the people, and what do they do with themselves? Especially the women? I must ask Mustafa about this; discretely, of course, I don’t want to tread on anyone’s sensitivities.

Then Rebecca’s thoughts drifted to comparisons between her country and Afghanistan and realized the two places had nothing in common; she had seen enough during her brief stay to understand the divide was unbridgeable.

Back home isn’t perfect, she mused. But it’s heaven compared to this place! The people here are so needy and repressed; it breaks my heart. Makes me feel so lucky to be an American woman and realize that I mustn’t take my advantages for granted.

  Ron was playing a game on his phone. There was no connectivity out of the city, so that’s all one could use a cell phone for, apart from taking pictures, which aroused suspicion; discrete selfies were the next best thing.

  “Ron, I know we’re here only to treat the patients, but I often wonder whether we’ll actually be able to influence anything else in the country,” she admitted. “So much needs to be done in so many areas.”

  “I agree,” Ron replied. “There are so many elements trying to get the Afghan government and Taliban on talking terms, but unfortunately, peace and the Taliban aren’t synonymous to each other.”

   “The people here deserve a chance to experience a peaceful time after decades of conflict and instability,” Rebecca sighed. “Working for the betterment of Afghan women and children should be a priority.”   

   “We just have to do the best we can with what we have, Becks,” he smiled at her. Her generous nature was what he loved the most about  Rebecca.

   “When you’re right, you’re right, honey,” she said teasingly.

   “This country did have its glory days up to the 1970s,” Ron added. “Do you remember the good old days, Mustafa?” 

   “Oh yes, Ron Sahib, I remember when we had peace and stability,” Mustafa replied; his eyes shone as he reveled in nostalgia. “What you see now is an impoverished, devastated country full of widows and orphans, but it wasn’t always like this. Kabul was once known as the Paris of Asia.”  

   “Really?” Rebecca sounded surprised. “What was it like back then, Mustafa?”

   “Life was wonderful. Visitors were stunned by the beauty of Kabul’s gardens and the snow-capped mountains that surrounded our capital,” he recalled  as he  was in his element as he recalled the past. “Ah, what beautiful roads and shops and houses! Schools and colleges for everyone. Afghan women not only attended Kabul University, but they also did so in miniskirts. Life was very different back in those days…”

      “How interesting; it’s hard to imagine this!” Rebecca exclaimed. “Please tell us more, Mustafa. Where did you learn to speak such good English?”

   “My parents worked in the house of a rich family, Miss; we had every comfort,” Mustafa remembered with a dreamy look. “The mistress was a kind lady and even paid for our schooling; that’s where I learned English. After school, my brother and I would rush to the city center to work as guides for the tourists that flocked to Kabul in those days; we made a lot of money from this work and even learned some French and Russian words; enough to hold a basic conversation. We never dreamed those days would end. The children of this present generation have no idea of how things were; they think we’re exaggerating when we mention those times. I believe we’ll get back there, though not in the few years I’ve left.”

  “Nonsense, Mustafa; you’re healthy and strong! You’re going to live for another 50 years to see your country restored to its former glory,” Rebecca said, and they all laughed at her optimism.

    Rebecca had kept a detailed notebook since she arrived in Afghanistan. While she was not a very energetic writer, Phil had insisted she jot down her experiences so that she would not miss any part. 

   “The way you write in that book feels like you’ll soon have the materials for a full-blown book,” Ron had joked about it after seeing her writing diligently every evening.

      Rebecca had thrown her pen at him then for mocking her, but it was not a bad idea, she thought.

   “I like Mustafa’s interesting view on things,” she exclaimed. “I’ll have to include those in my notes.”

   She looked back then to make sure her bag was at the back of the truck with the other things. It was then when she noticed five men coming out of the bushes onto the road they had just passed. She saw that  they all had guns slung around their shoulders, which was not an uncommon sight, but what was alarming was the man who was pointing a device at them. She has seen enough in her orientation sessions to recognize this was a detonator of sorts.

   Instinctively she glanced at the road ahead and saw large truck tires strewn across their path, blocking their way. Something was wrong, she felt it in the core of her being, and her throat constricted in fear.

   “Mustafa!” she screamed, pointing with one hand while she opened the truck door with the other.

   She tried to push herself out of the moving vehicle and grabbed Ron’s hand to pull him out too. Not knowing what was happening, Ron steeled himself for an impact as the truck veered wildly to avoid hitting the upcoming roadblock. Rebecca lost her grip when the vehicle struck one of the tires and lurched forward before coming to a stop. She was thrown out onto the road and rolled down into a deep ditch on the side.

  Winded and bruised, she tried to get her bearings. She looked up at the truck, hoping it had stopped for her. In that split second, she saw the startled looks on the faces of the people in the mercy caravan, just before a loud explosion knocked her out and blew the others to smithereens.

   The blast tossed Rebecca like a doll further away from the scene of the carnage, and mercifully, she lost consciousness. When she came to, all she saw was dust around, and she could feel it enter her mouth along with blood. She hurt all over. She couldn’t  see or hear and floated on a wave of pain and confusion. She remained there in the ditch for what seemed like the longest time, struggling to drag herself back into the land of the living.

   When her senses returned, she could smell the foul, acrid odor of smoke. She heard voices talking in a language she could not understand. Slowly, she opened her eyes and quickly wished she hadn’t. The vehicles and their occupants had disintegrated into twisted remnants of metal and burnt body parts, as flames licked the debris. In a state of shock, Rebecca recalled what had happened and realized no one could have survived this assault. The ditch had shielded her, or else she would have suffered the same fate as her companions.

   Rebecca hurt all over, and shrapnel pierced her skin.  Her broken left wrist, which was hanging at a weird angle, made her wince with pain, and her legs seemed to have lost their purpose. Scared and fearing the worst, she closed her eyes again. When she opened them, she was looking into five pairs of eyes that stared at her. The men all had beards and hard cruel faces. One of them looked familiar; in her dazed condition, she could not be sure, but she thought he might be the one they were talking about, Mullah Shaheen, the man at the hospital.

  The thought of that conversation brought Ron to mind, and the reality that she had lost him stabbed her heart.   

  “Oh, my God, Ron!” she gasped. “I tried to save you, my love. Why didn’t I pull harder? Bastards! Cruel bastards!”  

    Rebecca felt like jumping up and grabbing their guns and killing all of them, but she knew that was a fantasy; it was a hallucination of her fevered mind. She could barely move, and her training assured her she was in a pretty bad way.

   “Insha Allah,” greeted Mullah Shaheen in reply to a comrade’s comment. Rebecca could not believe that these murderers were thinking of God after committing such a heinous act.    

   “Allah has given us a gift,” Mullah Shaheen said gleefully in heavily accented English, wanting her to understand. The others laughed as the wounded young woman looked at the men with open hatred. Her clothes were in tatters. She tried to pull her rags together in a gesture of modesty when one angry man flung a large shawl at her and ordered her to cover herself.

   She was pulled roughly to her feet, and staggering and stumbling, she was forced to walk. Her legs buckled and she fell to her knees only to be dragged up and pushed forward. Her bare feet hurt as the stony road pierced her soles. The men kept her moving as they passed by the blast site. The van was still burning; the outside was blown away while some charred bodies remained on their melting plastic seats. It was bizarre to witness this ghoulish sight, and Rebecca knew she would never be the same after this.   

    She moaned, and her agony only created ridicule from her captors. The truck had virtually split into two, and the mutilated remains of Ron and Mustafa lingered  on the road. When she saw Ron’s burnt face with its sightless blackened eyes, bile welled in her throat, and her heart ripped from her chest. It was a hideous image to behold; she turned her head away and struggled to force a different vision of Ron into her mind.

     As if she was flicking through pictures on her phone, different images of his smiling face flashed through her mind; the experience was so overwhelming that her stomach heaved, and she wanted to puke. She forced herself to look back at the wreckage to see if, by some miracle, he had survived and was horrified to see a piece of his shirt amid the now smoldering wreckage.

  What kind of beasts do such things? How could these monsters kill and maim and laugh about it afterward? She pondered this horror as tears filled her swollen eyes and made a pathway down her dust-caked cheeks. Criminals are sentenced and incarcerated back home, but here they wear their atrocities like a badge of honor. 

   Now, she focused on the last smile she and Ron had shared. Even if it took her whole life, she would take her revenge. She would stop these madmen. All she could do right now was make this promise to Ron as she limped away towards the mountains, holding her broken wrist, tears rolling down her cheeks.

   Hampered by her heavy shroud, she staggered along, shoved and pushed by her abductors. She looked around for a means of escape. There was none; she knew she had to follow these wicked men wherever they took her.

   A loving image of Phil flashed through her mind. Whenever she faced any problem, he was always her first thought. And he had never failed her so far. Would big, brawny, brilliant Phil know what to do now? Her whole being cried out for her best friend as she was dragged along mercilessly, her bare feet lacerated by sharp stones.

   Help me, Phil! she screamed silently. Phil! Phil! I need you; please help me!