Mission (Aftermath #1)

2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

The Incident

Will

T he rain's coming down in buckets, hammering against the tin roof of the workshop like gunfire. I can barely hear myself think over the racket, let alone Arif’s muttering. He’s bent over the Hilux’s engine, elbow-deep in grease, cursing at something I don’t understand.

“Spanner,” he says sharply, holding out a hand without looking up.

I dig through the tool kit and pass him the size he needs. The rain’s done a number on the roads here; it’s a wonder the old truck even made it back from yesterday’s trip. The tyres are caked in so much mud it looks like they’ve sprouted their own ecosystems.

Arif glances at me, his usually cheerful, wrinkled face furrowed in concentration. “Big problem with roads here,” he says, his accent thick but clear. “Too much rain. Not normal.”

“No kidding,” I reply, wiping a smear of grease off my palm. The rain’s been relentless for days, turning the landscape into a bog. I shift on the wooden stool I’ve perched on, the damp air crawling under my skin despite the shelter.

“You have family, Will?” Arif asks suddenly, his tone casual as he twists a bolt into place.

I freeze for half a second before recovering. “Yeah,” I say, keeping my voice light. “A daughter. Phoebe. She’s six. Seven today, actually.”

“Ah!” His face lights up with one of those broad grins that make him so bloody likeable. “Today? Her birthday?”

“Yeah.” I swallow hard, fiddling with a socket wrench I don’t need. “She’s back in England. With her mum.”

“She must miss you,” he says simply, going back to the engine. There’s no judgment in his voice, just curiosity. But the words cause knots in my stomach nevertheless.

“Yeah,” I manage. “I miss her too.”

That’s the understatement of the year. The truth is, I’ve been aching for her all day. I woke up this morning to the sound of the rain battering the roof, and all I could think about was her laughter. The way she’d squeal when I’d swing her around the garden or help her blow out the candles on her cake.

Seven. Seven years old, and I’m not there. Again. I told Katie I’d call later, but it’s not the same, is it? I can’t reach through the screen and hug her. Can’t see her face light up when she opens her presents. I’ll miss the way she always saves me a piece of cake, even though I’m thousands of miles away and can’t bloody eat it.

Arif’s voice pulls me back. “And her mum?” he asks, glancing at me sideways.

I hesitate, pretending to check a tyre that doesn’t need checking. “We’re... not together anymore. ”

He doesn’t push, just nods, which I appreciate. The last thing I want to do is explain to him how I mucked it all up. How Katie tried—really tried—but she couldn’t live with the constant fear of my job. How I told myself I was doing it for them, but in the end, I think I was just too scared to walk away from the only thing I’m good at.

I miss them. God, I miss them so much it’s like a physical ache, someone squeezing my heart with an iron fist. I miss the way Katie used to smile at me, her eyes crinkling at the corners. I miss the way she’d brush her hair out of her face when she was annoyed but trying not to show it. And Phoebe—my little firecracker. I miss her giggles, her sticky hands tugging at mine, the way she’d throw herself into my arms like I was her whole world. Yet here I am, Safety and Security advisor for yet another NGO, miles from where I really want to be.

Arif straightens up, wiping his hands on a rag that’s as filthy as the rest of him. “Done,” he says, grinning with satisfaction. The Hilux rumbles to life as he turns the key, its engine sounding healthier already.

“Nice one,” I say, clapping him on the shoulder.

As we climb into the cab to test the truck, I stare out at the rain-drenched landscape. The wipers struggle against the downpour, barely making a dent.

The Hilux shudders as the engine settles into a steady growl. I’m about to ask Arif if the brakes need testing when the high frequency radio crackles to life, cutting through the hammering rain.

“GHHI Alpha to GHHI 1, come in, over.” Farid sounds tense and that's never a good sign .

I grab the handset microphone from the HF radio mounted between the two front seats, pressing the button. “GHHI1 here. Sit Rep, Over.”

“There’s been an accident,” Farid replies, his words clipped with urgency. “A young girl. Fell from a height—unconscious, possible head injury. Mel and Dr Jon need to get to a settlement near the Afghan border immediately. Over.”

A weight drops in my chest. “How far? Over.”

“Two hours in good weather. With this rain... longer. Over.”

“Any recent security incidents in the area? Over,” I ask, already running through the possible threats.

“Unclear,” Farid admits. “Tensions in the area are high, but there are no specific incidents reported today. Over.”

I glance at Arif, who’s watching me with a sharp look. “Stand-by. Over,” I tell Farid, lowering the handset. “Arif, what do you think? What’s the state of the roads?”

Arif frowns and dials his phone, speaking in rapid Tajik. The rain drums against the cab, drowning out everything but his low voice and the crackle of the HF radio. When he hangs up, his expression is grim but resolute.

“Roads are bad,” he says, his voice steady. “Flooding in some areas. But passable. We can make it.”

I nod, trusting his judgement more than my own when it comes to navigating this mess. I pick up the handset again. “Understood, Farid. Arif’s driving. Heading back to base now for rapid risk assessment and pick up Mel and Jon. Over.”

“Copy that,” Farid replies. “GHHI Base, Out. ”

The handset crackles and goes silent. I turn to Arif. “Get her fuelled up and check the spare tyre. We’re in for a rough one.”

Arif's expression is unreadable as he nods and steers the car through Khorog’s narrow streets toward the compound. The rain continues its relentless assault, pooling in potholes and turning the roads slick with mud. As we pull into the courtyard, I spot Mel and Jon under the overhang waiting for us to pick them up.

“Give me ten minutes,” I tell them as I step out of the car. “I need to run a rapid risk assessment.”

Jon nods silently, while Mel adjusts her pack, muttering something to Arif, who begins loading the equipment from the shed. I stride to my office, wiping rain from my face as I enter the quiet, dimly lit space. I sit at my desk, boot up my laptop, and pull up the risk assessment template.

The baseline risks for this region are already listed: unmarked minefields and Taliban incursions across the border from Afghanistan. These are constants—always present, always a threat. But today, the real wildcard is the weather.

I input the new data: the relentless rain, deteriorating visibility, and slippery roads. The forecasts offer no reprieve, just a grim continuation of the downpour. Arif’s intel from earlier paints a clearer picture: the main route to Pastkhuf is intact, but the rains have turned sections into muddy quagmires. There are no reports of landslides, but the combination of poor traction and steep inclines means one wrong move could spell disaster.

The mitigations are limited but straightforward: stick to the main road, move at reduced speeds, and maintain strict communication. I type out the final line with a sinking feeling: New risk factor: treacherous road conditions due to sustained rainfall. Acceptable under current mission parameters.

I save the file, push back my chair, and head to the courtyard. The rain has eased slightly, though the clouds still hang low. Arif is securing the last crate, while Jon and Mel check their packs. The Hilux looks ready, but there’s a tension in the air—a quiet understanding of the risks we’re about to take.

“All right,” I say, stepping from under the overhang. The rain soaks through my jacket in seconds, but I barely notice. “Arif says the roads are bad, but we’ll manage. Jon, be ready to move as soon as we get there. What do we know about the girl?”

Jon adjusts his glasses, water dripping from the brim of his hat. “Six or seven. Fell from a height—possibly into rocks. She’s been unconscious since the fall. No idea how long she was down before someone found her.”

“Locals are doing their best,” Mel adds, shouldering a medical bag, her usual calm edged with urgency. “But they’re out of their depth. No clinic, no equipment. We’re all she’s got.”

“Understood,” I say, looking between them. “Here’s the rundown.”

They gather closer, their faces grim but focused, as I lay it out.

“The usual suspects remain: unmarked minefields and the possibility of Taliban activity near the border. Same protocols as always—stick to known routes and stay alert. Don’t take any chances. ”

Mel nods, her eyes steady. Jon shifts his weight but doesn’t comment.

“The new issue,” I continue, “is the road itself. The rain has made it a mess—slick, unstable, and dangerous in places. Arif’s intel gives us a good idea of the worst spots, but we’ll need to stay cautious. Keep speeds low, communicate constantly, and trust the vehicle’s capabilities.”

Jon finally speaks, his voice dry. “Sounds like a Sunday drive.”

I snort quietly. “Yeah, with slightly higher stakes.”

Mel smiles faintly, but the levity fades quickly.

“Any questions?” I ask. When they shake their heads, I clap my hands once. “Good. Let’s get moving.”

As we climb into the Hilux, the rain picks up again, rattling against the roof like an ominous drumbeat. My fingers tighten around the strap of my seatbelt. The risks are assessed, the route is set, and we’re as prepared as we can be.

The tyres churn through the mud and waterlogged ruts, the truck lurching with every bump and dip. The rain’s relentless, blurring the world into a smeared palette of grey and brown. The wipers struggle to keep up, barely making a dent in the sheets of water cascading down the windscreen.

In the back seat, Mel and Jon are silent, the weight of the situation pressing down on all of us. My mind races through scenarios—what happens if the roads are washed out, if the rain doesn’t let up, if we can’t reach her in time?

I glance at Arif, his jaw set as he grips the wheel tighter, his eyes scanning the treacherous track ahead. He’s the best driver I’ve worked with, and I trust him, but even he can’t control the weather .

A girl. Six or seven. The thought gnaws at me, sharp and unrelenting. A kid of Phoebe’s age, lying there, hurt and unconscious, waiting for us to make it through this bloody storm.

I shake my head, forcing the image out. Focus, Will. Focus on the road, on the plan, on what needs to be done. The rain’s unrelenting, the road ahead unforgiving, but there’s no turning back now. Not when someone’s counting on us to be there. Not when there’s a chance to make a difference.

Arif grips the wheel, his knuckles white, as the Hilux struggles through the churned-up mud track. The tyres slip and fight for traction, the truck groaning with every push forward.

“Slow it down,” I say, my voice tense. The road’s already a nightmare, and the last thing we need is to slide off into God knows where.

“I know,” Arif replies sharply, his focus unshakable. “Rain is too heavy. Road is getting worse.” I can see Jon out of the corner of my eye, clutching a medical bag like it’s a lifeline.

The road bends sharply, hugging a ridge where the mountains rise up, looming and unforgiving. The rain turns everything into a blur—rock, mud, water, all blending into one endless cascade. I keep my eyes fixed ahead, scanning for anything that might make this bad situation worse.

And then I hear it.

A low, guttural roar. Not the engine, not the rain, something deeper, heavier. My stomach drops as I realise what it is .

“Landslide!” I shout, but the word barely escapes my mouth before the world explodes around us.

The side of the mountain gives way in a violent surge of mud and rock. It slams into the Hilux like a freight train, and everything goes sideways—literally. The truck is shoved off the road, spinning and tumbling. My head smashes against the headrest, the air filled with the deafening noise of metal crumpling, glass shattering, and the scream from either Mel or Jon.

Pain hits me, sharp and blinding, radiating from my back and pelvis. I can’t tell which way is up, the world a spinning mess of chaos and agony. The Hilux comes to a jarring stop, wedged against something solid, but the rain keeps pouring, the mud sliding and shifting around us.

Voices cut through the haze, panicked and urgent. Arif shouting something in Tajik. Mel’s voice, high and sharp, calling out to Jon. I try to move, but pain explodes through me, stealing my breath.

“Will!” Mel shouts. “Will, are you—”

I don’t hear the rest. My vision swims, the edges going dark. My body feels heavy, useless, as if the mud pressing in from outside is already burying me.

Phoebe’s face flashes in my mind, bright and clear despite the storm. Her smile, her laugh, the way her arms used to wrap around my neck like I was the safest place in the world. I should’ve been with her today, on her birthday. I should’ve been there, not here, not like this.

Then Katie’s face follows, unbidden but just as vivid. Her eyes, the way they’d soften when she looked at me. The way she’d whisper, “Come home, Will,” like it was the simplest thing in the world. I never listened, did I? Never gave her what she needed .

I feel something beneath me, the pain pulling me under. The storm drowns out everything else as the darkness finally takes me.