The day was quickly gaining brightness as the time limit for Fajr prayer was breached. The preachers were exhausted and badly needed a break. The daylight meant that lighting a bonfire for cooking would not act against them as a homing beacon if they managed to suppress the smoke. It was all bright green around them. The dew in the night had washed away all the dust from the leaves. The grass was still as wet as it was in the night. The rays of sunlight broke through the dense greenery above them in sharp lines. The birds had been up for hours now and now mingled in loud and lengthy conversations. The atmosphere was so staggering that the runners would have taken a break just to feel the ambience if the threats were less fatal. Soleiman tried to strike up conversations but all his attempts at breaking the ice were met with silence from his friend's end. They walked until they felt their sight blur. Mustafa abruptly collapsed and sat down on the ground, quickly throwing a rag underneath him as he did and rested his back against a tree. He was panting after keeping his injured body stiff for so long. As soon as his skin stretched when he got into the sitting position, he let out a muffled groan. The pain in his thigh reminded him of the threat they faced. They decided, as they were already in need of some energy, there was no harm in setting camp for a little while. Soleiman managed their bags and edibles that they had gathered along the way. The bags and supplies were set aside and Soleiman searched for some twigs or dry branches to make a bonfire. Mustafa had the leftover herbs in his pocket and all he needed was some water and fire to make another ointment to ease his pain for another day. He patiently waited for Soleiman as he looked for the wood. Quite conveniently, he found a few dried shrubs and a few twigs optimal for a bonfire and one branch that was strong enough to be used as a stake. Soleiman didn't have to wander too far away from his injured friend.
Soleiman returned with the scavenged scraps and laid down all the apparatus required to carry out the tasks they had planned. The sticks, the match sticks, the cup, the water bottle, the fishes, etc. It all checked out. He started to organize the sticks for the bonfire. As soon as the bonfire was ready, he smothered the light, surrounding it with damp clothes and constructed a frame over it to hold the vessel or the anything else he wanted to heat. He set up the frame and sat beside it. Soleiman remembered the diary his companion had handed to him in the darkness. He pulled it out of the satchel and tried to read it. The cover was definitely leather. It was a worn-out bible but inside was a small diary stapled to its front flap. The burnt in crucifix gave away what the book actually was because the rest of it was destroyed beyond recognition. Somehow the diary had survived. Probably because of the better quality of paper. The name on the cover looked familiar. "Steve Richardson", it read in cursive handwriting. Soleiman recognized the name. He was trying hard to make any sense of what was happening.
"Why didn't you just take me with them, oh God?", he heard Mustafa whimper behind him, barely letting the words out. He was in considerable amount of pain. Soleiman left the sticks and leapt to him. He put his hand on his forehead and it was not good news. Mustafa was boiling. The wounds had taken their toll. He wasn't sure how long he would survive on the makeshift medicines. He needed to be looked at soon. Soleiman was now genuinely worried. The wound must have gotten infected. The herbs were possibly just painkillers but even if they were supposed to heal him, they still would have needed a long bed rest, a luxury they couldn't afford. Mustafa was still filled with enough will power to make a run or two but his body was failing him. Soleiman took the herbs from Mustafa's pocket and decided to boil them to prepare the medicine. It would give them some time.
Soleiman tended his wounds and fixed him some smoked fishes. Mustafa had lost his appetite but forced the food into his mouth. He knew that if he were to escape this madness, he was going to need all the nutrition he could get. Soleiman also ate half-heartedly but quickly. Mustafa opened the bandage to apply the medicine and found the stiches in a pitiful state. The herbs were definitely painkillers because if not, there was no way Mustafa had walked on for this long. The stiches were bleeding and the wound had certainly hit some vein that didn't like it. He gently applied the steaming herbal paste on the wound. Mustafa winced in pain, groaned and gnawed on his twisted spare shirt. They finished the meal and decided to take a greatly needed brief nap.
The nap was drowned in nightmares. From their childhood traumas to present worst case scenarios, they had everything to startle them from their slumber. Such sleep would further worsen the state of their health rather than restoring it and they were smart enough to acknowledge that. They settled for a bit of rest without eye shut. Soleiman laid down for a little while before getting up again to prepare something to eat. He let Mustafa absorb all the rest he could get. He made use of the fire and started heating the recently harvested honey.
Both of their heads were overpowered by the thoughts of home. Soleiman was daydreaming his neighborhood in front of him. The children playing cricket in the street causing all sorts of noises and chaos, moments before dusk. A few children reluctantly going to their tuition centers after their school, overburdened by the heavy bags strapped to their backs. Their eyes on the game, envying the children who had the freedom to play while they were loaded with never-ending homework from the school. A pack of few girls playing board games in the garden of a neighbor, dangerously close to the overenthusiastic boys playing cricket, but both the packs oblivious to one another. Some adults, arriving from work, queueing up at the Paan and cigarette vendor at the far end of the street. He could almost smell the mouthwatering scent of Samosas the nearby bakery was being swarmed for. Mustafa could see himself in the market around the mosque in Ankara. Sipping green tea from the disposable paper cup as he strolled for the Fajr prayer an hour before the dawn. He loved the rare quiet moments at the market. Most of the shopkeepers packing up as the tourists were less likely to visit at dawn. The customers shopped all night and slept from dawn to noon. Only the bigger shops that could afford shorter shifts and more staff than others kept the shops opened 24/7. He could see his mother waging a war against a helpless shopkeeper, bargaining for a sweater and apparently winning the battle. He almost felt the red brick walkway underneath his hard-sole sandals. As he strolled through to the mosque, he could see his father making his way up the mosque carefully clutching the rails of the stairs. A number of admirers offering their assistance and him respectfully turning them down with a smile.
At the apex of his vision, Soleiman heard a voice call out his name which snapped him out of it. He let Mustafa submerged in his thoughts as he took the metal cup that warmed the honey from the fire and let it cool. After a while he took it to Mustafa and offered it to him. Mustafa mustered up some willpower and sat up. He took a gulp and winced. His body didn't feel like his own anymore. The taste and smell were gone but he decided to finish the cup, he knew he needed every bit of energy that he could get. While he did that, Soleiman smoked the last fish that they had left. He offered it to Mustafa but he turned it down with a shake of the head so he ate it himself. As he did, he thought of the countless Christian preachers that had laid down their lives trying to help the people of these villages and tribes and how their bones had ended up among the branches and stones in the dark forest. Both of them faced the threat of receiving a similar fate. The bones he had tripped over were not miles behind them. Either their bodies were dumped there or they had managed to evade their doom for that long. Both the possibilities were equally haunting. Mustafa had finished the honey and was feeling a bit better. Soleiman gestured him to resume the journey. Mustafa asked for another minute. Soleiman gladly accepted the request as he wasn't bustling with energy himself.