Crimson Hunger

Chapter 26

The two horrid men mumbled something in their native tongue then left without fixing back the canvas. Ian and Ada could now see the sky, fogged and blackened by the dark fabric upsetting their sight. There were sparse, thin clouds like long, smoggy brushstrokes.

The truck peacefully and slowly moved past the checkpoint.

Ada decided to continue to stare heavenward—there would definitely be no disturbing images in the sky like on earth, and having distressing pictures burned to her memory was not something she ever fancied. Who knew where those Jihadi goblins carried out their cruel, ungodly executions and punishments? It could be anywhere around her now. For a second, she regretted being foolishly driven by her emotions, but she shook the idea off her head and concentrated on imaging a beautiful future, somewhere beyond all this... somewhere in a place and time that knew no war, no death, no shelling, no bombing, no hatred and no pain. Somewhere in a land full of love, warmth and peace.

Man would travel great distances to chase the faintest mirage of contentment—and what promised the most dangerous dose of happiness but love?

Ian peeked from between the sacks beside him. The highway apparently ran through a forest whose trees were made to bow in the direction of the strong wind that had been blowing at them since they were young saplings. Light poles were made gloomy by black fabric signs with white Arabic scribbles. The air reeked of death, of fear, of isolation, of ruthlessness... of all the things he wished not recall.

Bile rose in his throat. He swallowed hard, forcing the orb of bitterness to creep down into the pit of his stomach. He felt sick and lightheaded. Garrick's warm breath provoked his icy earlobe. He froze as the image of his best friend's boots flashed in front of his eyes accompanied by a metallic, salty taste in his throat. His hands reached to his chest and squeezed the thick fabric of the coat covering it.

Black Toyota pickup trucks and Land Cruisers carrying men dressed in the ugliest face of death were scattered on both sides of the highway. Ian watched as a Toyota Tacoma sped right beside the lousy cattle truck in which he sat like a black sack of nothingness. It soon disappeared from his sight. He regretted ever coming to Syria. The bitter and angry feeling that once possessed and him, making him ever so hungry for his rival's blood, was replaced with crippling fear—one that had a grip on his being.

"I wanna go home," he whispered.

"Me, too," Ada agreed, barely hearing her own voice as her heart thumped in her ears like a drum embedded in every part of her body.

The truck pulled over and Jamal's head popped at the end of the truck. He motioned for them to come over and yelled in an offensive, condescending tone, "Yalla ya hareem, enzelo bsora'a. (Come on, women, come down at once.)"

With a hand that hid beneath the draping burka, Ada reached out and searched for Ian's hand which, too, hid beneath a similar, hateful cloth. She pulled him up with her and they made their way to the end of the back. Esmeralda and Jane bleated non-stop and seemed upset as if the devil stood nearby.

Unassisted, Ada climbed down the truck, trying her best to protect the dreadful burka from getting stuck in the vehicle's metal. Ian followed suit in silence, feeling emasculated by the costume.

The face of an armed crow-like creature with a beard that could be mistaken for a sparse, long pubic bush received them on the poorly paved ground. With bulging, bloodshot brown eyes like those of a drunken fly, he stared down the two human tents as if to curse them with an eternal bad omen.

He grunted then, without blinking, asked Jamal, "Tholi al-sabaya elli tgol annahom? (Are these the slaves you mentioned?)"

"Na'am, ethnein bas (yes, only two)."

The appalling creature motioned scornfully for them to get back into the truck as if his sole purpose of asking them to get out of it was to prove he was in a position of power.

Ada climbed inside, followed by a reluctant Ian. As he lifted his leg to climb over the edge, his trousers came to sight and the militant barked, "Ya horma! (woman!)"

He froze in his place, unsure what to do next—he didn't understand the language and was supposed to remain mute. Ada heard the militant complain to Jamal that women were supposed to wear jilbabs underneath the burkas and not just pants. Jamal assured him that he would give her a good beating as soon as they got home and told him this woman was not right in the head.

The militant laughed and said, "Kol alhareem nagsat agl (all women lack brains)."

"Ya horma (woman)," Jamal cried for Ada, "ta'ali khothi okhtik (come and escort your sister)."

Suppressing a giggle, she hurried to Ian and pulled him by the arm and, as she did, she whispered in his ear, "He was checking your ass and apparently found your trousers sexy."

He pursed his lips, impatiently waiting for a chance to return the insult.

The two were back in their place, but Jamal was still chatting with the horrid creature. A car pulled off nearby and its five passengers were made to step outside and wait as another crow searched it barbarically. The passengers were three men and two women. One of the men was being scolded by a giant, pale militant with a flaming red beard. He repeatedly slapped and barked at him.

"What is he saying to him?" Ian whispered to a very stiff Ada.

"Lecturing him on his own version of Islam," she replied.

"And why is he treating him like that?"

"Because it's what those brutes do."

The truck was soon back on the road, which now got more crowded. It took a left turn, entering a narrow, unpaved road. Little boys stood on both sides of the road, carrying daggers in their half-starved waists and wearing black headbands like the ones worn by adult militants. One of them was in a shirt stained with blood, standing tall like a miniature scarecrow and staring at every passerby with eyes from which innocence had been ripped.

"Ada, look at these boys," Ian whispered frantically.

"I do not wish to see any of this."

A large crowd of men forced Jamal to stop the truck. Ian stood tall to see what the matter was. If those men were not silent, he would assume a major riot was taking place. Ada tugged at his burka to make him sit down, but he ignored her.

In an empty space in the middle of the crowd was a young, anemic man being mercilessly flogged by a robust crow-like creature. It seemed people were enjoying the scene, or at least not bothered by it. No one intervened on behalf of the young man and no one cringed as the whip lashed at his bare, skeletal back, making him squirm on the dirt in agony that muffled his voice. Some even cheered for the tormentor.

He sat back in his place. "A guy is being flogged," he announced, his tone colder than he expected, "it seems people here—"

"I don't wish to know the details," Ada interjected sternly.

"I wasn't gonna tell you anyways!" He retorted, trying to keep his voice down. After a moment of silence, he added, "Why do you insist on being a bitch? One moment you're this kind, caring person and the next, you're a high-strung beast. I don't think I wanna put up with your demeanor any longer!"

Every word he uttered was true and Ada knew it. Her pride always got in the way of her happiness and she could not explain that to him—not even to herself. She couldn't tell him that ever since his father spoke to her and she looked him up on LinkedIn and Facebook, she was intrigued by him. It wasn't easy to tell him that the moment she lay eyes on him, he tickled a nerve she believed dead in her heart. It was hard to let go and even harder to give in and completely fall in love with this stranger. She chose to remain silent.

The crowd wasn't likely to disperse anytime soon, so Jamal tried to take a different route although a bumpier one that made his passengers feel sick thought it wasn't long before the truck stopped and Jamal announced that they were resting in his place for a couple of hours.

*** 

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