Paul looked up at him. “I wouldn’t say it ‘worked’. I’d say we were damn lucky.” He turned back to Zehra. “How’re you holding up?”
“Oh … I’ve got my family and garden but …”
“Don’t worry. We’re not done chasing these guys down. I promise.”
Zehra didn’t want to hear anymore. Guilt and fatigue haunted her, but she found herself angry, instead. Angry at all the violence and fear the terrorists caused. “Thanks Paul, but we all have to do something. If moderate Muslims like me don’t stand up and fight these extremists, they’ll win.”
She stood to leave. Looked out the window at sun lighting up the piles of white clouds to the east. Turning back to the group, she said, “It’s about time some of us progressive Muslims declared our own ‘jihad’ against the terrorists.”