There was a temporary silence as they both processed the information each of them had given each other before Khalid took a quick drink of his water and slammed it on a nearby table. “We need to hurry. God knows how much longer Daniyal has left. We need to save him.”
Faizan, who had been sitting on the edge of the bed, got to his feet and got slightly groggy by the rush of blood that surged into his brain. His vision blurred a bit but he managed to keep his balance.
“Will you be okay?” Khalid asked coming to his aid but Faizan stopped him and assured him he would be alright. “Alright, let’s get going then.”
They made their way out of the room and the moment Faizan crossed into the corridor, he could smell the rotting flesh all the way into the dining room. It has been a lot warmer there and he clasped his fingers around his nostrils as he crossed the dining room buzzing with flies. He took a quick glance and saw the decomposing bodies, barely recognisable anymore. Even the air outside had the slight smell of carrion because of the dead bodies of Phelwan and the little creature. It felt like to him the smell had now become a part of him, melded to his soul.
Nonetheless, once they had walked past a few houses, he could breathe a lot easier but caught his breath when he saw the minaar of the masjid. It had grown so long that it looked like it was touching the top of the sky, and now he was sure he wasn’t seeing things because it looked like it was slightly transforming into a porcupine quill. The long structure looked like a minaar but was more pointier and had slight shades of white and black on it. Was this really the work of witches? What kind of powerful magic is this? He wondered if the dreams and hallucinations he had had were just visions or actually real.
Faizan followed Khalid who was leading them towards the village houses that were at the edge of the fields. He looked towards the sea of darkness that was the fields, with wheat stalks swaying like shadows of demons writhing amongst each other and large burning fires dotted around where he could see the silhouettes of people moving around, committing god knows what atrocities as they cheered in loud voices. Towards the village structures he could hear the sounds of dying screams and happy cheering too, which grew louder as they got closer. Faizan’s heart sank as they approached, the darkness of the deserted area of the village disappearing as they neared the fires of the chaos. He couldn’t believe he was going back there after everything that had happened, but then again, what he had had to go through with the landlady was far worse.
He knew they had entered the danger zone when Khalid stopped and took him towards the side of the street they had just entered. Faizan could see the running open gutters on the side, redder and thicker than ever, as if all the sacrifices were feeding the village and it was getting stronger.
As if it was a breathing, living identity.
“What happened?” asked Faizan looking around, his heart jumping at every flickering shadow or hint of movement.
“You need to blend in,” he replied and crouched down at the gutter. “Come here.”
“What do you mean blend in?” he asked.
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Khalid gestured towards his own bloodied clothes. “The way you’re dressed, they’re going to spot you instantly. If they even get a whiff that you’re from the city, they’re going to fuck you up.”
Faizan realised what he meant and felt nauseous at the thought of all that blood and filth on his clothes. He had seen and smelt more than enough blood and guts to last him a lifetime. He shook his head as Khalid waited for him to crouch down with him. He was surprised when Khalid, who had seemed so compassionate with him before, scooped up the running blood and threw it on his clothes. He looked annoyed and there was frustration on his face. Faizan wondered what was up and stood frozen as Khalid covered him with it aggressively. He figured that he was stressed out and was just trying his best to survive, and so Faizan let him, doing his best to keep control of his gag reflex. After all, he wanted to save Daniyal too just like he did and time was running out.
“Make sure you let me do all the talking, alright,” Khalid said and even his tone appeared more aggressive. “You don’t know how to speak Punjabi after all. Come on, follow me now and do as I do.”
Faizan followed him as they walked through the streets feeling even more unsafe than he had had before. The fires and the noises were closer than ever and his heart leapt whenever they turned a corner. Eventually, his fears came to fruition when he saw a group of them approaching, carrying bright torches that elongated their shadows over them. Faizan held his breath and almost jumped out of his skin when he heard Khalid chanting religious incantations like them.
“C’mon, go along with it,” said Khalid in a quiet voice in between the chants. Faizan followed suit, his voice croaking. “Louder and don't pronounce it like that. You need to say it like they do, with an accent.”
Faizan raised his voice and tried to chant it like Khalid did who was eventually satisfied with it. He began to jump on his heels and pump his fist into the air and encouraged Faizan to join him, who did his best. He felt awkward and did his best to pretend the approaching villagemen didn’t exist. God, this is not going to work.
To his surprise, the villagemen did not react the way he had expected and instead chanted along with Khalid and eventually stopped in front of him when they met up. It seemed like they considered Khalid a part of them and he was impressed by how he had managed to fool them. He spoke in the same Punjabi dialect as them, and Faizan barely understood anything. If he hadn’t known Khalid he would have probably thought he was one of them as well. It seemed he was talking with the head of the groups about the ‘proceedings’ taking place in the village.
Although they did not show any suspicions towards Khalid, he did catch a few of them staring at him. He tried to act as natural as possible but felt their stares piercing into him and he began to sweat nervously. He was so preoccupied with the anxiety of the situation that he didn’t even notice how they knew Khalid’s name. Eventually, Khalid and them laughed out loud, breaking Faizan’s trance and they walked away on their own paths.
Faizan let out a deep sigh of relief. “Holy shit, you really have them fooled. How did you do that?”
“Don’t worry about that right now. I’ll tell you once we get out of here. Come on, we’re nearly there.”
As they walked on ahead, the population of villagemen began to grow until eventually they were in the thick of the chaos. The streets were crowded with them and at certain choke points near the main slaughter grounds, they had to squeeze through them. Faizan could smell the sweat and blood on their bodies as he would do so. It was unbelievable how he was walking among the very people who not so long ago had been chasing him. The air was chock-full of the smell of blood and death, and Faizan felt himself getting sick already. He would have thrown up there and then if not for the fear keeping him in check. He also felt his body sweating because of the sheer warmth all around courtesy of the burning fires that it seemed blazed among all the houses that belonged to who they dubbed as ‘sinners’ or those of other religions.
All around he could hear the haunting cries and pleas of the victims as they passed by slaughter grounds and houses where the streets were full of blood and body parts. Headless bodies deemed unfit for consumption and their innards were strewn amongst heads, as if they were dolls in a children’s playroom. Other bodies were being dragged around or carried like meat carcasses, ready to be cut open. Countless times he stepped into a puddle of blood that had formed because of the gutters being clogged up from meat, or got intestines tangled up in his feet, or slipped upon the semi-digested innards of a carved stomach. What if the rest of his friends were among the meat and blood he saw all around him? Or what if they were cooked and digesting inside some savage’s stomach? What if Hina, the love of his life, was just the pile of bones he saw on the streets? He tried his best to push away these thoughts. He had to believe they were alive because otherwise, he had no other motivation to keep going.
He had to believe.