Ch. 6 The Giant of Kandahar

I was very surprised today to be visited by Mr. X. This isn’t the sort of hospital where one gets visitors. I’m sure the general public doesn’t even know this place exists. I’ve even wondered, out of paranoia, if the outside world out there even knows I’m alive.

Mr. X came by beaming his characteristic unusual-looking smile. I found myself so happy for his company that it didn’t even creep me out like it did before. He was bubbly and effusive. He opened my curtains in the room for the first time in my memory to get sunlight for the small, tastefully-sized vase of flowers he brought me to cheer up my room. There was a small parking lot outside with ordinary-looking cars, as if this was a small hospital or nursing home anywhere in America. So, I was above ground. I made a mental note to get closer to the window as soon as I could to see what state the license plates of those cars were from.

Mr. X offered enough information, worked and woven into the one-sided conversation that he had with me that I didn’t push for more answers.

“I’m so delighted that they tell me you are recovering so well and so quickly considering all you’ve been through. Your parents are fine. I took the liberty of telling them that you are alive and well and that I represent a company for which you accepted some field work out of the country, in a place without regular communications. I also took the liberty of making arrangements with your university to preserve your position there should you wish to return to it. I did promise you that when the Dust Bowl assignment was over, that you could return to your previous life if you wanted. I keep my promises, Dr. Leighton. I have made it possible for you to do that if you wish to upon the completion of your recovery.”

“Thank you very much,” was all I managed to say.

“Don’t think of it, Dr. Leighton. Let it not be said that Mr. X doesn’t keep his promises. Never let that be said.” He dropped his smile and his voice grew serious for that last bit, about keeping promises. But then, the bubbly Mr. X was back.

The strange man made about five minutes of chit chat small talk after that and left me feeling a lot better. After the things I saw on the road to Dust Bowl and on the road trip there, and after the roughness of my first debriefing session, I had wondered about my status and about my freedom after recovery. I had decided days ago that they probably weren’t going to kill me and disappear me…probably…because they wouldn’t have gone to all the trouble of fixing me up and boarding me all this time if it were more expedient to let me die out there in the desert.

Speaking of the desert, let’s get you what you’re reading this for, more of the story of what got me here.

We soon stopped at an Interstate rest area. Liz had indeed brought a Geiger counter along. We each stepped out of the vehicle. There, in the middle of the night, parked away from a camper and some semis with snoozing truck drivers, we were checked for radiation exposure from the Black-Eyed Kid. Liz said we were fine. It was decided to just drive all the way through in shifts to Denver. The hotel stop for sleep was to be skipped.

I was exhausted and it was my turn to sleep in the back. Liz drove. Rachelle was awake. I dozed off listening to Mont telling Rachelle the story of how he’d come to believe there was more to our world than the simple and ordinary. Apparently, according to Liz, as part of team building, we were allowed to discuss missions we’d been on before for Control, as long as we didn’t mention anything that was above field agent clearance. We all had field agent clearance except for Liz, who was above.

Mont had had a military background before becoming a cop. As I listened there in the back of the Expedition, drifting off to sleep, I found out about another legend that, like the Black-Eyed Kids, turned out to be true.

“This isn’t your typical war story,” he began. “It’s something else entirely. I’m about to tell you about the day my skepticism died and my belief in the supernatural was born. 

“It was 2008, and I was 24, a young lieutenant fresh out of West Point, full of confidence and skepticism. I didn’t believe in ghosts, UFOs, or any of those campfire tales. My world was solid, defined by the hard facts of military life. We were stationed in a remote part of Kandahar, Afghanistan, tasked with searching for a missing patrol. The area was notorious for its rugged terrain and hidden dangers, but nothing could have prepared us for what we encountered.

“We’d been out there for hours, and the sun was starting to set behind the mountains. The air was thick with dust and tension. We found the remnants of a missing patrol’s gear scattered around the entrance of a cave. There were no bodies, no blood. There was just an eerie silence that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

“Our squad leader, Sergeant Collins, signaled for us to move in. As we entered the cave, the darkness swallowed us whole. Our flashlights barely pierced the blackness, revealing ancient carvings on the walls that looked out of place, almost like they belonged to a different time. My heart was pounding, but I kept telling myself it was just another mission.

“Then, we heard a deep, guttural growl that echoed through the cavern. We froze. The sound wasn’t human, nor was it any animal I’d ever encountered. Before we could react, a massive figure emerged from the shadows. It stood at least 12 feet tall, with fiery red hair and six fingers on each hand. Its eyes glowed, yes literally glowed, with a malevolent intelligence.

“Panic set in. We opened fire, but our bullets seemed to do little more than irritate the beast. It moved with terrifying speed, grabbing one of my men and snapping his spine like a twig. The cave became a slaughterhouse. One by one, my squad was torn apart, and there was nothing I could do. I watched as my brothers-in-arms were reduced to lifeless heaps on the cold, rocky ground.

“Somehow, amidst the chaos, I managed to throw a grenade. The explosion stunned the giant, giving me a fleeting moment to act. I grabbed a fallen soldier’s rocket launcher and fired. The missile struck the giant in the chest, sending it crashing to the ground. It let out a final, earth-shaking roar before it lay still.

“I was the only one left standing. My body was covered in cuts and bruises, but the physical pain was nothing compared to the psychological torment. I stumbled out of the cave, gasping for air, my mind reeling from what I had just witnessed.

“The aftermath was a blur. A recovery team arrived, and the giant’s corpse was quickly secured and flown out for study. We were sworn to secrecy, threatened with dire consequences if we ever spoke of what happened. The official report blamed our squad’s deaths on a Taliban ambush, but I knew the truth. I had seen the impossible, and it shattered my understanding of reality.

“For years, I tried to bury the memory, but it haunted me. Nightmares plagued my sleep, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was so much more to this world than I had ever imagined. I began to read about folklore and legends, trying to make sense of what I had encountered. The skeptic in me had died in that cave, replaced by a man who knew that there were things beyond our comprehension lurking in the shadows.

“The world is a strange, mysterious place, and sometimes the line between myth and reality isn’t as clear as we’d like to think. That’s how I became open to an offer like working for Control.

"With some of my last conscious thoughts that night, I realized that giants in Kandahar were real too. Figured. I wondered what legends would turn out to not be real as I learned more and more working for Control. Was it all real?"

There were only two more folks to pick up before reaching Dust Bowl, one in Denver and one in Flagstaff, from Flagstaff, we’d leave Interstates and main roads and head out into the desert.

Before completely slipping away to sleep, I thought I heard Liz explaining that Jonie, whom we would meet in Denver, was a mage. A mage?

I had strange dreams as the Expedition rolled down the Interstate miles. I dreamed of a magician performing card tricks for an audience while wearing cargo pants that looked like Rachelle’s. There was a giant in the audience.