I waded through goats and kids as they fled from something or someone. I approached the commotion and kept low as I tried to listen. I heard a terrified cry from a house and ran toward it.
“No, Brown!” I yelled. I saw him through a window. He held his gun up on a woman and two little girls. “Brown!” I jumped out of the way of a bicycle as I ran around the house and slowly eased in the door. “Whoa, Brown. Buddy, what are you doing?”
“They, they, were calling the Taliban.” His eyes were red and wide. His gun was pointed at the mother while her gaze flew to mine in a desperate plea to save her family. She shook her head and nodded at a small container she had been holding.
“Tea,” she sobbed, “just tea.”
How did he even get here?
“No, Brown, she’s not. She’s just a mother with her childre
