Ali finally just sat down, exhausted. He had tried to find either Neesha or that other one—the one he couldn’t remember at the moment—but had failed. He had killed four more of those Komodo dragons, not one of them the right one. That beast was like a jinni. The few times he had sighted it, it had disappeared without a trace. But the beast was a primary objective accessible only through a secondary one. He needed to get his hands on one of those trackers. He needed to take one from one of the other contestants.
But that had proven to be utterly fruitless. Since his encounter with Neesha some time ago, he hadn’t seen anything of them. And he didn’t know why. He had been trained by some of the best back home. Why couldn’t he find them? Every time he found a trail or heard something that sounded human, it had come to nothing. It was as if something was actively seeking to keep him from finding the other contestants.
His eyes fell on a plant that he hadn’t seen yet. It was short with thin leaves that had a sheen to them the rest of the foliage around him didn’t. Frowning in curiosity, he nudged one of the leaves up with his finger and looked underneath. The underside had a distinctive bluish cast to it. His frowned deepened. He knew this plant. It was a…a…. His thoughts trailed off. Before being recruited for the attack in the United States, he had been studying medicine. One of the subjects that he had found interesting was one on plants.
He recalled seeing a picture of this plant in some book. It had medicinal value. Something happened to him as he continued to stare at the plant. Old memories began to flicker behind his eyelids, memories of laughter, exploration, achievement…and productivity. He remembered wanting to save lives, not take them.
His features hardened. “The infidels must die,” he muttered as if by rote. That was important too. They said it was important too. If the infidels were allowed to live, Allah would be blasphemed, and the Muslim religion would be under siege. They had to die…his eyes focused on the plant again.
Fevers! It was good for fevers…and…and when crushed would create a paste that could prevent wounds from getting infected. He recalled a story from one of his medical journals, talking of a man who had gotten lost on one of the Indonesian islands. The man had cut himself and only this plant had saved his life. He blinked. The man wasn’t a Muslim. The man’s life had been saved by this plant. Allah must have willed it. A life was saved…
He sucked in his breath and let it out slowly. An ache formed in the pit of his stomach, one that threatened to consume him. What had happened? How did he go from a man wanting to save lives to a man wanting to take lives? He knew the justifications. He knew that to kill infidels was a holy act, one that helped keep the Muslim religion pure. But what would be greater in the eyes of Allah? To kill an infidel or to convert him? What would be the greater aid to conversion? Taking a life or saving a life?
Ali shifted uncomfortably on the rocky ground. His lip trembled and he wiped a dirty hand across an equally dirty face. He knew the cameras were watching him. He knew that he was a spectacle for the whole world, but he didn’t care. At that moment, a tear crept from the corner of his eye and blazed a clean trek down his cheek.
He naturally despised Christianity, but the one thing that Christianity did that had so often seemed so absurd was to declare that its adherents were to love their enemies. Love your enemy! Such a ridiculous concept…and yet Ali could see how that would aid in converting more people to Christianity than killing nonbelievers would. Islam didn’t love their enemies. Islam killed them. Christianity said to do good to them that despise you. For his entire life, Ali saw such sentiments as weak and cowardly. Now he wasn’t so sure.
He reached out and touched the leaf of the plant again. Allah had created this plant—a plant meant to give and save life. Why couldn’t Ali use this gift to save lives? Did he have to take lives to be a good Muslim?
Suddenly, Ali wanted nothing more than to get off this island and finish his medical studies. He didn’t want to kill anymore—except maybe the Komodo dragon that had killed that little boy. What was his name? Simul. Poor kid.
Ali took a deep breath and stood shakily to his feet. He still needed to find one of the others, but this time, maybe he could convince them they should work together. He smiled suddenly, something he hadn’t done for a long time. He knew that his swing in direction was abrupt and would be viewed with a great deal of skepticism. In truth, he was somewhat surprised himself. He had been so sure of himself and the plan. He had forsaken everything. In his family’s eyes, he was already dead, already a martyr to the faith.
He shrugged. It didn’t matter—well, it did, but he had to get off this island first. Once off, he would deal with his family and the cleric which had recruited him. Looking around carefully, he picked a direction and set off—but not before harvesting enough of the plant to make the paste. He had wounds that needed proper dressing and he supposed the other two did as well.