“I’m back now.”

She’s breathing all heavy, hurt lining her eyes.

“Calm down, Lauren.” I grit my teeth, stressed over what just went down. The last thing I need right now is lip.

“Did you just tell me to calm down?” She vibrates. “Fuck you, Slade.” Opening the car door, she steps out.

I pull down the window. “There isn’t any Uber here in this neck of the woods. It’s me, or it’s nothing.”

I grip the wheel, praying she’ll come back inside. Lauren doesn’t know what these men are capable of. For the first time, I realize how stupid it was to bring her here. Someone could have seen her in my car, all alone, and smashed the window open. They could find her now and take her from me. My chest tightens with the image of my woman in their hands.

“Get in the car, Lauren.” My voice cracks.

“Fine. Whatever.” She throws her hands up. “Take me home.”

She gets back in but slams her car door with force. The sound jars me. In the driver’s seat, I begin to wring my hands, left to right.

Rituals.

Blood trickles from my eyebrow, settling into my mouth. The copper taste moves up into my nose. I press my fingers against my coarse brow, now wet and slick to the touch.

What the fuck?

I bring my hand down, noticing a substance like slick motor oil between my fingers. The blood, it keeps pouring and won’t stop! My breaths shorten.

A rock is thrown directly into my face, hitting my head. I hold my tongue, even as blood drips hot, not wanting to curse or escalate the situation. Sometimes, kids don’t realize that we’re a force of good around here. Still, my head bleeds from the sharpened edge, trickling like raindrops onto the sandy gray street.

The village outside Kandahar is dusty and full of Taliban. An elderly gentleman waves to us, toothless and seemingly friendly. I motion for our interpreter to follow me. I’m going to him.

“Ask him if there are Taliban around here,” I instruct.

The interpreter goes ahead and speaks, and the man immediately responds with hands gesturing wildly.

When he’s finished, the interpreter says, “Yes, when Taliban are here, we must be with Taliban. But, today, America is here, and so we are with America. You will allow us to farm, yes?”

Another rock hits me, but this time, it’s straight between my eyes.

“Slade?” A soft, far-off voice wakes me.

I come to in a small and dirty cot, huddling under a blanket.

Rex. Where’s Rex?

“Slade?”

I hear her soft voice again, but this time, I’m back to the moment. I flinch as Lauren’s warm hand moves to my arm as my eyes blink wildly.

“Slade, are you all right?” Her face is a combination of anguish and nervousness. “You zoned out.” Her earlier anger has turned into worry.

“Yeah.” I push the gas and drive, my skeleton shaking beneath my skin. Holding the steering wheel, I attempt to get ahold of reality. “Don’t stare at me like I’m some goddamn freak show,” I growl, my fear disguised as anger.