CHAPTER 12
Sylvester had no idea how many days had passed. He guessed in all that time, he had gotten only a few hours of sleep. A scraggly beard had taken root on his face, but under all the mud one could hardly tell. Yesterday—or was it two days ago?—he had fallen and twisted an ankle pretty bad. Each step was excruciating.
He paused under a palm tree, and placed a hand on a smooth patch of bark to help steady himself. He had no idea where the other two contestants were, but he did have a pretty good idea where the target dragon was—just on the other side of that ridge up there. At least, the dragon had been there an hour ago. He couldn’t believe how much this beast moved around.
Twice before, he had almost gotten within striking distance of the creature, only to be run off by some of the other dragons in the area. It was as if they were protecting the beast! Still, he had even fired an arrow—the bolt had shot off wildly well over the creature’s head. The vile thing had hissed at him before scampering away into the underbrush.
With his twisted ankle, he dared not follow.
Needing to rest, he sat down in the palm grove, rubbed his red eyes and pulled at his scraggly beard. He never had a beard before, but doubted anyone would appreciate the wild growth of hair that now marred his face. He didn’t know what to do. His ankle only got worse, and the swelling filled his boot to the point where he wasn’t even sure he could pull it off easily.
Habitually, he checked his pack for water and food. Nothing. He had run out days ago, he guessed. Only the occasional rain or creek had kept his thirst back. As for food, he had only a single arrow left to try and procure any. His other four had long since been lost.
He swore and tried to stand up. He cried out in pain the moment he tried to put pressure on it. He nearly collapsed, but he forced himself to stay upright. “Don’t think about it,” he muttered to himself. “Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it.”
He hobbled out of the grove of palms and looked around. He had no idea where he was in relationship to the Island. He examined the ridge. No doubts about it. He would have to climb it to see if that killer dragon was on the other side. The particular creature they hunted had a peculiar marking just under its left eye. If he could get close enough, maybe he could get a lucky shot off. He froze.
“This is stupid,” he muttered, his lip beginning to tremble. Sylvester had never thought of himself as a coward, but now he did. He hated the Island, the outdoors, the animals, the unfairness of this barbaric hunt. He knew he would never win. They would come for him, hunt him down and slaughter him like a cornered pig.
A tear escaped one eye and cleared a muddy trail down his cheek. Resigned to his fate, he turned away from the ridge and hobbled away.
Ali fell into the spring-fed stream and greedily gulped down the cool water. He splashed the water over his head and face, feeling the dizziness lifting somewhat. God had directed him to this stream, just as God had directed the Prophet. The stream was only above ground for about thirty paces and then it disappeared underground. If he hadn’t stumbled down the ravine, he would never have found it. He had never tasted something so good.
Still, he suspected he had contracted malaria. He had a fever, dizziness, and he had lost weight from lack of food. He lay in the stream, unaware of the leeches that were even then finding purchase on his exposed skin. He just lay there, trying to clear his skin, trying to think.
Somewhere he had lost the tracking device that those godless infidels had given him. He now had no idea where the beast they wanted him to hunt down was. As he saw it, he now had three choices. First, he could hunt blind, but that seemed pointless. Secondly, he could martyr himself, but that meant he had to find one of the infidels and try to kill him. Thirdly, he could find one of the other contestants, kill him or her and steal their tracking device. Okay, there was a fourth one. He could just lay here and die.
He seriously considered it. The entire game was pointless, just another means for evil men to make themselves richer. Why humor them? What would Allah want him to do? What would the Prophet do?
Blinking water out of his eyes, he fought into a kneeling position in the stream. Steeling his resolve, he pushed himself to his feet and looked around. He would find one of the other contestants. He would kill the unbeliever. He would steal the tracking device and win this stupid game. He would have his revenge on those who had put him here.
Neesha eyed the huge snake in terror. Texas had snakes, but she had never seen one so large before. The reptile half hung out of one of the trees, its tongue tasting the air, searching for its next meal. Neesha didn’t want to be that meal. Her head pounded from a migraine that sent stabs of pain deep into her temples. At times the pain threatened to paralyze her, and she had screamed more than once in a fit of agony.
This was one of those times. Her head hurt so much that the snake began to blur right there in front of her eyes. She swayed on her feet, grinding her teeth in an effort not to scream in pain. The snake drew up a little, testing the air, its long body shifting slightly around the tree branch it was coiled on.
Neesha wished she knew what type of snake it was. She was a city girl. The wilderness held no interest for her and she had no experience with wild life. She had heard, however, that there were some snakes that would bite and others that would just wrap you up and squeeze you to death. Which one was this? Not knowing what to do, she just stood there.
The pain in her head became even more intense. She moaned and lost her balance. The fall probably saved her life. The snake struck the air where she had been. Neesha rolled down a small incline that took her beyond the snake’s reach. She screamed the entire way, both hands pressed tightly to her head. She gathered bruises like a farmer reaping wheat, but she hardly noticed. The pain in her head was intense, well beyond anything she had ever experienced before.
She came to rest against the trunk of a palm tree, where a few scorpions scurried out of her way. Sand clung to her hair like flies to honey. Her lip had split somewhere in the fall and the blood mingled with the sand in her mouth, tasting gritty. The pain eased some and she spit out a wad of blood and sand.
Looking around, she realized she had fallen into a gully. The snake at the top was slowly uncoiling from its perch, prompting her to scrambled even further away on hands and knees. She ached all over when she finally collapsed into the shade of a bush. She trembled, rubbing her temples and tears fell to mingle with the blood of her lips. She tasted salt.
She didn’t know how long she sat there. Time had become an elusive concept to her. The Island had gnawed away at her sense of self. The pain in her head had eroded her identity and determination. At times, she had completely forgotten why she was here. At times, she had forgotten her own name.
“Neesha,” she said aloud. “My name is Neesha.” She needed to say it. She needed to hear a voice, even if it was her own rather hoarse one.
Something beeped in her pocket. Curious, she took out a device and looked at it. It showed a red dot and some numbers underneath. Confused, she studied the device. What was it? Then it all came back in a rush. The Komodo dragon. She needed to kill it. It was the only way to stay alive. The dot. The dragon’s location! How far? She peered at the screen, reading the numbers. Less than fifty yards. She was close. Very close.
She looked around and found her bow where she had fallen a short while ago. She also found the snake. It was coming towards her and was much closer to her bow than she was.
She swore.
Climbing unsteadily to her feet, she picked up a stout stick and advanced on the snake. “That is mine,” she hissed.
The snake hissed back.
Angry, she attacked. Twenty frenzied blows later, the large snake lay still in a bloody mess. Breathing hard, she tossed away the tree branch and picked up the bow. It was slick with blood. Slowly, she dipped a finger in it and tasted it. Her stomach growled. She licked her lips and eyed the dead snake.
Dinner.