Trucking

The road was bumpy and harsh. The was sitting in the back of a truck, among piles of hay, and one goat that was chewing on some of it, looking at him with a blank look in its eyes, as if to say, now what. The sun bore down heavy and hard as it did in this part of the world. Dust swirled in the wake of the truck. In the distance, a city loomed, and became smaller with every bump and every turn, and every roar of the engine. Dung and diesel danced their dance in the atmosphere. The open trunk of the truck felt rough, lathered as it was, sparsely, by dust, which rolled around. The goat kept chewing.

Hūr Amran was going a few miles outside of Lahore. He had heard of a place where things had gone wrong a while ago, something no one could explain. They claimed it was the jinn. He knew better. It sounded like this place would have some answers. An explosion, a litter of madmen crawling out of the woodwork, unleashed upon the world.

A particularly hard bump made him wince. The tires trudged onwards. The sun was unflinching. Flies buzzed around the nub of tail of the goat. It dropped some small black balls from its rear end.

He sighed, his beard heaved alongside. His chest sunk inwards. His back was rounded, he was a much different man from the one that had left the cavern, or entered into that forest, what felt like so many years ago. He sometimes wondered, what if this was all a delusion. What if it were a dream. No, it couldn’t be a dream. It was too long, he should have been awake by now. Was he dead? He certainly hoped not. What if the man in the cavern was mistaken? Then he thought about the power he had felt in those forests and the certainty when the man had told him of the history, the present, and the future of the board and the game, and the world, and its destruction. And he believed. He could not deny it. Try as he might, something within forced him to believe. And so he did.

The sides of the truck grazed against a branch of a lone tree, he ducked just in time. Some leaves fell down into the truck, the goat looked up, finding neither threat nor better sustenance, it continued, its head bowed, chewing on its food.

Unbidden, a thought came to him. Why had he not suspected before, he wondered with a growing worry. His stomach grumbled, chills crept up his spine. Darkness spreading. Who was the man? It had been dark, the calls to isha, the night prayer had just begun. Loud, overhead, mosques everywhere, each echoing the other. Someone had whispered from an alley, the typical trope of suspicious, and yet, he had not suspected then. Who was the man? A man, hooded had told him of the place he was on his way to now. And had disappeared into the darkness. 

A shout came from inside the truck, they were reaching his destination. He turned and looked at the great big manor that gleamed in the distance. He was almost at Sir Gangha Ram Hospital.