Mark Taylor: Genesis (Prequel in the Mark Taylor Series) Read Online Free PDF Page A

out of his funk.  While they walked, Mark became aware that he finally had a chance to take photos without the watchful eyes of the cousins, who had remained in Kunduz. He pulled his camera out of the case and unzipped the top of the bag that held his three hundred millimeter lens so it would be handy if he found he needed it.
    Blue burqas accompanied by men that Mark knew must be a male relative,  dotted the long stretch of road, but all seemed to be on missions from one place to another.
    Mark jumped when a truck roared down the street, the bed full of men carrying guns. “What the hell?”
    The truck swerved to the side of the road near a lone woman. Mark was sure a man had been with the woman a few seconds ago, but now he was nowhere to be seen.
    Mo pulled Mark into an alley. “Better not to catch their attention.”
    Mark nodded, but peered around the corner, feeling in the bag for the lens. He screwed it on and began snapping photos as two of the men shouted at the woman. She cowered, but didn’t attempt to flee. Hampered by the burqa; she had no chance against them.
    He flinched in shock when one of the men lifted a club and brought it down across the woman’s back. The thud of wood against flesh wasn’t loud, but in his mind, the sound was amplified until it resonated like a gunshot. He lowered the camera and took two steps around the corner. He had no plan of action in mind but he couldn’t just stand here and watch a woman being beaten by two men.
    Mo grabbed his arm. “What are you doing?”
    Yanking his arm out of Mo’s grasp, Mark glared at him. “What does it look like? We have to go help her.”
    Moving close, Mo put an arm out, blocking Mark’s way. “No, we don’t. Think of yourself as a reporter—you can’t be part of the news, you just have to record it.”
    Frustration, anger and helplessness battled inside of him. Part of him realized Mo was right. They were here to record this exact kind of treatment. Knowing Mo was correct was one thing—accepting it was a different matter. Even as he watched, people on the street walked past the commotion. Men would stop to look for a few seconds, but the women would pass without faltering. Were they so used to these scenes that they were no longer affected? Mark didn’t see how that was possible and guessed they were terrified of being the next victim, and that ignoring it was their best defense.
    “You can’t help, Mark. You are a foreigner and your ‘help’ could end up getting her killed and you arrested.”
    For a split second, he didn’t care about getting arrested. It was gut response, but common sense finally slapped him upside the head. If he were arrested, it would defeat their purpose. Resolutely, Mark nodded, but the muscles in his jaw tightened as he lifted the camera and caught the end of the conflict.
    The woman tumbled to the ground.
    Click.
     Another blow with the club.
    Click.
    The men shouted at her, prodding her with their feet.
    Click.
    Shakily, she stumbled to her feet, and made her way to the truck, where she was loaded in the back. She huddled in a shapeless blue heap in a corner of the bed as the men jumped on the running boards. The vehicle sped away. Click. Click. Click.
    Mark lowered the camera, shaking with anger as he stared after the truck. He recapped his lens and dropped it back in the case, jerking the zipper closed. Ignoring his natural instinct to intervene had been like trying to ignore the instinct to breathe.  An empty bottle caught his eye and with a muttered curse, he kicked it into the side of the building. The explosion of glass against the bricks didn’t satisfy his anger, but the shards scattered on the ground added to his guilt. He had seen dozens of kids running around the town, rooting around in the garbage and now one might cut their foot because of him. He bent, sliding his arm into the camera strap so that it draped diagonally across his chest, and picked up the pieces.
    “Leave it, Mark.