Within the Wakhan

I awake slowly, consciously aware before even opening my eyes.  Calmly, I peel them open, watching my surroundings.  I am in a small one roomed house, made of grey smoke worn stone.  The floor is covered in hay, and light filters into the abode from a hole in the ceiling.  Outside I can hear the sound of children laughing, and every once in a while young Afghans run past the entry way after an improvised soccer ball.  Around me there are two other Marines, lying down and still asleep.  At the doorway, another Marine sleeps, sitting with his back up against the wall.  Raising my arm, I stare into the beat up analog watch on my wrist.

"Crap," I mumble, sitting up from the padded hay.  My back aches, and my shoulders are stiff.  Shaking my head, I rise to my feet, holding the wall to keep my body steady.

"Wake up ladies.  Sarge's going to be ticked with us if we aren't out of the village in 10."

Around me my marines begin to stir, groan and finally get up.  I make my way over to the entry way, where the sitting Marine still sleeps.  I nudge him slightly with my leg, causing him to fall over to his side.  He awakes with a jolt.

"The hell-" the marine starts, looking up with fury at the man who disturbed his slumber.

"Try not to fall asleep next time when you have guard duty, Gordon," I say, staring down at the assist rifleman.  He pales for a second, realizing his mistake.

"Sorry, Corporal."

Ignoring the apology, I continue out of the little house, my eyes blinking at the morning sun.  There was something about the way the light came off the mountains that just made it seem clearer, crisper, cleaner.  Covering my vision with the shadow of my hand, I looked around at the small village we had set up camp at.  Several other houses similar to the one we had slept in surrounded the small clearing.  To my left I could see the other fireteam of the squad making their way out of another house, with several Marines carrying packs to the two Humvees parked on the beaten mountain road.

The village was the last rest stop on our way to the main objective of my squad's current mission.  A month ago, an anonymous tip off had been given out of illicit opium trading occurring in the region.  It made sense, when one first looks at the situation.  The Wakhan Corridor was a narrow strip of land controlled by Afghanistan, in the Pamir Mountain range.  The corridor has had a history of being a trade route in ancient and early modern history, connecting the Middle East to the Far East.  Now though, it is extremely isolated and lacking in infrastructure.  The people here live as they did hundreds of years ago, and some tribes still have almost no connection to the outside world.  It's remoteness, yet proximity to China has made it appear to be the perfect route for drug trafficking.

That is why we are here.  We were sent in to investigate the possibility of the Taliban using one of the corridor's ancient paths for the trafficking.  We were chosen to investigate the area due to our record in combat, as well as the fact that our NCO, or Sergeant Sanders, cannot seem to resist volunteering us for every mission that comes along.
Still, it was not as if this mission would be extremely dangerous.  The Wakhan is far from well-known Taliban habitation, and had long been in the hands of the Northern Alliance, enemy of the Taliban during the civil war in 1996.  More than likely, we would spend a week or two trudging around the mountains.  Not exactly the most pleasurable experience, but it was better than being back in Kabul, where the IED was a constant threat to fighting men alike.

After several minutes of preparation, the Humvees were packed and my fireteam was loading up.  I was leaning against the door of the Humvee, awaiting our guide and translator, Amir.  He was currently speaking with one of the elders of the village, no doubt asking which roads were good at this time of year, as well as which roads to stay away from.  It was summer time, and the rivers high up in the mountains could become fierce raging walls of water thanks to the melting glaciers.

It was during this time that I allowed myself to let my thoughts wonder away from my duties, and look at the scenery around me.  This village was situated at the edge of a small valley surrounded by colossal mountain cliffs on either side.  The grass of the valley was green and lush, painting the area with a calm and relaxing mood.  Goats were grazing on the green, their masters watching over them in dark brown robes.  I turned my head back to the pass we had come from yesterday, which lead back to Fayzabad, the capital of the Badakhshan province.

I suddenly noticed something glinting in the corner of my eye.  I turned to the shining object, to see a metal chain attached to the mountain wall.  I remembered as we came in yesterday, there had been a goat chained there. At the time, I had thought it odd that the villagers would keep a goat so far from the safety of the village.

The goat was still there.  Well, parts of it at least.  Only bits and pieces of meat and skeleton remained, as well as the untouched head.  Immediately I could tell this was not the work of the villagers, or any human being.  Obviously, some creature had gotten ahold of the goat during the night, and made a meal of the unfortunate grazer.  Even with the gruesome shape the body was in, the most noticeable thing about it was not that.  Rather, it was the eyes of the goat.  They stared back at me, calm and tranquil.  It was not the stare one would expect to be frozen on an animal as it was literally being eaten alive.

The eyes touched me somehow, though I don't know why.  They were not pleading or horror struck, but almost forgiving and understanding.  I tried to think back to the night, and whether or not I had heard the small animal shout or scream.  I did not recall hearing anything, or having my sleep disturbed by any sound at all.

"Corporal Rodriguez?"

I turned away from the goat.  There beside me was Amir.  He must have finished talking with the village elder.  Shaking myself inwardly of my thoughts, I focused back on the duty at hand.

"Yes, Amir?"

"We are heading out.  The villagers say there is another valley where we can make our base, two days journey from here by foot.  We should be able to arrive there by sunset in the Humvees, God willing."

I nodded, and we stepped into the Humvee.  Daniel, my rifleman, started the vehicle, and our little convoy began its journey east, into the dawning sun.

The ride was bumpy and the Humvee would jerk left and right.  The roar of the engines echoed across the hard walls of ancient peaks, so loud that I thought for sure the snow on the high mountain caps would tremble and tumble downward in an avalanche.  Still, the snow held, and our tiny group made its way farther and farther from civilization.

We finally arrived at the valley the elder had mentioned, and begin to make camp.  Tents are pitched, equipment unpacked, and my Marines begin to relax a little.  The young ones laugh and make fun at each other's expense.  Older men with more tours on their belts head off to the tents to rest, tired from the journey.  Everything seems fine, calm and relaxed.  Still, I cannot rid myself of the feeling that we are being watched. The presence pricks at the back of my neck for several moments at a time, but when I turn, searching the mountain cliffs that surround us, there is nothing there, and the sensation is gone.

Night comes quickly in the shadows of the mountains, and soon the amber and violet rays disappear from sight.  My fireteam and I sit down against the valley wall, around a small fire.  The flame casts the human shadows high up the cliffs, exaggerating every move of the shadow's owner.

"Jesus, its cold," says Gordon.  He shivers, and begins to rub his arms in a vain attempt to make himself warmer.

"Pobrecito," says Lopez, my SAW gunner, grinning at Gordon.

"Aw, screw you, you stupid be-" begins Gordon.

"Hey, knock it off ladies," I say, "the last thing I need to hear is you two bickering like an old married couple."

This garners laughter from the other fireteam, who sit a few feet away at their own fire.  I catch the eye of Sergeant Sanders, who smiles and shakes his head.

"Gordon's right Corporal," starts Daniel.  "It is pretty damn cold up here.  Any chance Sarge would be willing to let us put more wood on these fires?"

The young rifleman turned his hopeful eyes to the Sergeant a few feet away.  The old NCO frowned.

"Out of the question, kid," says Sanders.  "We can't afford to make these fires any larger.  We do that, and we'll be a beacon for any insurgent scout within a dozen miles."

The young rifleman nods, and mumbls a quiet yes sir.  The group settles down for dinner, and my men and I pull out the oh-so-wonderful MREs, or meals ready-to-eat.  They were full course meals placed in tiny packages, including an entrée, side dish, and powder to mix with your beverage.  It wasn't like any of the food tasted any different from the rest of the meal, nor did it really have any sort of quality taste, but it was filling at the least.

To my right, Gordon spits out his "beverage", which I assume was not all to his liking.

"God, this stuff sucks.  This is supposed to be tea?  Tastes more like lukewarm pi-"

"Quiet whining Gord," Sarge says, cutting him off, "at least you have your lukewarm tea.  When we got here back in '01, all we had to drink was local water mixed with purifying tablets.  That stuff could make you as sick as anything in the water could without it."

The other fireteam's rifleman shudders at this, him being the only other marine than Sarge among us who have been in Afghanistan that long.

"Man, I tell you what though," says the same rifleman, "I wish we could've taken one of those goats off of the villager's hands.  There ain't nothin' like the taste of a tender mutton chop."

There are replies of agreement from across the squad.  Even I begin to nod before I catch myself.  After all, what he said was true.  A soldier doesn't serve a tour in Afghanistan without at least once eating a meal with goat as the main entrée.

"Hey, did any of you see that goat on the cliffs?" I say it before even realizing I was doing so.

Several heads turn in my direction, puzzled looks filling their faces.  The only one that does not seem perplexed is, unsurprisingly, Amir.

"Ah, so that is what you were looking at earlier today," he says, his accent present, yet his English clearly understandable.  I nod my head slowly, waiting for an answer.

"Do not worry yourself about it, my friend. It is merely an old tradition, erm, superstition, that the villagers have in this region.  As foolish as those superstitions are, for whatever reason they still hold on to traditions that begin even before the faith arrived here so long ago."

The faith.  He was talking about Islam, of course.  Still, that would mean those traditions were a lot older than he made them out to be.  After all, "the faith" had been the dominate religion in this region for over a dozen centuries.

I want to press the question further, but I refuse to allow myself to do so.  The last thing I need is for the troops to be thinking I've lost it, and Amir looked like he didn't want to talk about it anymore.

The squad moves on to other subjects.  There was the rise in insurgency in the south, the final withdraw of Polish and Italian forces from the country, and the Cyrus vs. Tennessee Trial to name a few subjects.

To be honest, I wasn't really there mentally when they were making small talk.  I had really begun to nod off, and it was getting hard to focus.  Top finally gave the order to put out the fires, and sent everybody off to their sleeping bags.  My fireteam knew we would need the sleep for the journey tomorrow, and there was little complaint, except from Gordon (of course).

"Come on Sarge, we aren't five years old.  I think we can tuck ourselves in."

"Yeah, that's what you think Gord.  Though I seem to recall a certain Marine slacking off on the job last night, no?  Someone obviously needs more sleep."

At that the assist rifleman grunted in reply, and then muttered something under his breath as he headed over to his sleeping bag.

I sighed, and walked over to Sergeant Sanders, rifle in hand.  He and I would be taking the first shift on guard duty.  My eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and I could see the NCO's face in the little moonlight that was peeking over the cliffs.

His face was that of a lifer.  Not just a military lifer, but a combat lifer.  Even though he was only thirty something years old, his hair was beginning to grey.  His dark, hard eyes were sunk in from long nights without sleep, and his skin was tanned brown in countless missions in the deserts, both here in Afghanistan and back in Iraq.  A long scar crossed over from his left cheek, to the bridge of his nose, to the edge of his right ear.  No doubt there were other countless scars that covered his body.

"Hey, Marcus," he says to me, calling me by my first name.  He rarely does that, and when he does, it usually means he has something he wishes to discuss.

"Sergeant," I respond, with a quick nod in his direction.  We stand there for several moments, scanning the mountain crags for enemies who are not there.  Again, the sensation of being watched begins to tickle the back of my neck.  I force myself not to look behind me for what seemed like a long time, before the sensation drove me to turn.

There.  A shadow moves across the rock wall behind us.  I squint my eyes to focus my vision on the shadow, but as soon as I see it, it is gone, becoming one with the darkness.

"Corporal."

I turn back to the corporal, who is frowning at me.  His face is still, but his eyes move back and forth from me to the cliffs.

"Something wrong son?" he asks, turning his eyes back to me a final time.

"Uh…" I begin, not sure what to say.  Should I mention what I saw?  Or was it just a trick of the eyes?  Even now, I am beginning to doubt there was anything there in the first place.

"Nothing, sir.  Just a feeling's all."

"Just a feeling?" he inquires.

"Well… I don't know sir.  Ever since we've gotten here, I can't help but feel that I'm- I mean, we are being watched.  There's just this presence that won't leave me alone."

"Ah…" he says, looking back up to the mountains.  For a while, he just stands there, staring up at the snowcapped peaks.  I turn and look as well.

The mountains have the same effect on the moonlight now as they did in the dawning sunrays.  The light seems crisper, more defined, except right on the outline of the mountains.  There, a haze comes off of the snow, giving the massive mountains a silver aura.  It was both humbling and awe inspiring, not only in its beauty, but in the fact of knowing that very few people would ever see the mountains here like this in the deep night.

"Incredible, isn't it?" says Sanders.

"Yes sir."

"Hm.  You know, I've been a Marine for a long time.  I've made a career out of combat, and I've seen a lot of terrible things.  We both have."

I turn my head and look at him.  He was still looking up at the mountains; His hard eyes had softened, if just by a little bit, and his mouth has curved into a small conserved smile.

"But seeing things like this…" he pauses for a moment, "seeing these mountains.  Seeing the sky full of stars in the middle of the cold desert, seeing the bright innocent eyes of those children back at the village…" he turns back to me.

"It makes it all worth it."

I smile, and nod.  It is really rare that soldiers like us are given the opportunity to enjoy their surroundings, let alone actually make the effort to enjoy them.

"Marcus, listen."  His face has grown serious again, and his eyes have turned hard.

"Son, I'm glad that you have the mind to listen to your instincts.  It's a good thing.  However, there is a difference between heeding your gut, and living by it.

"You can't allow your instincts to control you, or you are going to end up making random, dangerous decisions on a whim.  As a leader, you can't allow yourself to do that.  You have lives depending on you, and you have an obligation to ensure that as many men under your command make it back home to their families.

"Do you understand, Corporal?"

I was caught off guard by the speech.  It was rare for Sarge to say more than a full sentence, let alone go on about the duties of an individual.

"Yes sir," I say, nodding.  Still, at the back of my mind the sensation haunts me.  There is no peace in his speech, and it only leaves me more confused as to why I am almost certain that we are being observed.

During the rest of our shift, neither of us spoke.  Two hours later, we awoke the next pair to guard, and headed off to sleep.  My bag was on the outskirts of the group, though not really separate.  It was not long before I drifted off into slumber.

---

The sun is shining.  I look around me, left to right.  There are no mountains.  There is only grass, as far as the eye can see.  The sky is endless, massive and powerful, yet at the same time, gentle and comforting.  Glorious white clouds drift by above me.  Several miles ahead of me, mighty thunderheads march across the plains.

I am home, back home in west Texas.  I am riding a horse, following the barbed wired fence that divides my father's ranch with the one of our neighbor.  All seems peaceful, and I doze slightly as the horse walks along.

Suddenly, the horse rears up.  I am thrown from its back, flying into the air.  The ground comes to meet me, hitting my body hard in the grass and dirt.  I turn to see the horse rearing up again, only this time facing me.  Its hooves come smashing down to the grown, nearly crushing my head.  I try to cover my face with my hands, even though I know it is a futile effort.

Suddenly the horse drops its head, bringing it next to my arm.  It catches my arm in its mouth, biting deep into the flesh.  The pain is excruciating, and my mind begins to go blank.

---

My eyes shoot open.  Above me I can once again see the outline of the mountains crowding over me, as if to see if I am alright.  Above them the stars are shining, yet the moon has disappeared.  I force myself to breathe, coaching myself in an effort to remain calm.

It had been a dream.  A nightmare, to be exact.  Still, it had seemed so real, and the pain, the pain was-

My thoughts cut off.  In my panicking ponder; I had not realized that I was unable to move my body.  I slowly try to lift myself up, but a weight is pressing down on me.

I lift my head, to see what is pinning me against the valley floor.  My eyes have not yet adjusted to the darkness after sleeping, and my vision is blurry.  I cannot see what is preventing me from rising, and again I try to lift the weight.  Then, something happens that freezes my blood.

The weight moved.

The weight, it, whatever it was, had repositioned itself on my body!  Something was pressing against me, forcing me into submission.

My panic returned, and I began to thrash within the sleeping bag.  A faint growl of disapproval came from it, and soon the weight lifts from me.

Desperately, I reach for my rifle, lying only a few feet from me.  As I extend my arm, a searing pain drives into it.  I stop for a moment, nearly passing out from the agony in my arm.  Fighting to stay conscious, I lift my other arm and reach for the gun.  I raise the gun into the air, clumsily taking off the safety and chambering a round into the barrel.  I stare out into the night, searching for the perpetrator.

I see the shadow leap across the mountain walls, almost as if defying gravity.  I try to take aim, but all my strength is gone.  The rifle falls from my hand, and I collapse back onto my sleeping bag.  As my vision begins to fade, I lift my left arm to my eyes.

There is blood everywhere.  The scarlet liquid oozes into my right eye, causing me to shut it closed.  However, with my left eye, I see a sight that leaves me in horror.  A gaping bite wound stares back at me, like an open jaw.  As my final strength leaves me, the arm falls closer to my face, making the wound, the open jaw close in to consume me.

Darkness.


II – The Ascent


"Corporal, wake up man."

My eyes flutter open, blinded by the morning rays.  I sit up and look at my rifleman.  He has a worried look in his eyes, like something is wrong.

"Everything alright, Marcus?" Daniel says.

It takes me a moment to remember where I am, as well as to recall what happened last night.  I thrust my arm out of the sleeping bag, to see the wound.

There is nothing there.

The wound is gone, with no evidence of bite marks, no scars, no blood, nothing.  I stare back up at Daniel, with an equally confused look on my face.

He repeats his question again, "Is everything alright?"

"Uh…" I say my voice hoarse.  I am not sure what to make of last night's experiences.  Were they a dream?

"Yeah, I'm fine," I finally respond, trying to force myself to accept that it must have been a nightmare.

Except, it had felt so real.  The pain was a warm memory in my mind, and the thought of it made me cringe inwardly.

I push myself up from the sleeping bag, and begin to put on my boots, preparing for the hike ahead.  Around me the base camp is readying for the day ahead as well.

Behind me, my rifleman stands there for a moment, before walking away.  I suppose he is not satisfied by my response.

The morning goes on uneventful.  The squad makes a quick breakfast – once again, we dine on MREs, only this time the meal includes a mix that is supposed to resemble coffee –before we pack the last of the necessities for the trip.

Today, my fireteam and our guide, Amir, will be travelling along the southern route of the corridor, searching for signs of Taliban.  The southern route is known for being extremely dangerous during times of winter, and is fairly isolated from the other routes.

Basically, our job was to travel along the southern path, as well as talk to natives in the area to see if they had seen signs of any large caravans moving through the area.  If we spotted any insurgents, we were to report back to the base camp for back up where the other fireteam remained.

It will take us two days to make it to the end of the path, and then we would be heading back to base camp, for a total of four days gone.  The trip to the end of the path is uneventful, or, at least, one would think.

All throughout the first two days, I am constantly plagued by the sensations I had felt when we first arrived in the corridor.  It is as if I know that I am being examined, watched closely by an ever elusive entity.

I try to force myself constantly to ignore the feelings, only looking behind myself when it becomes unbearable.  At one point on the second day of travelling, I even spin around and aim my rifle up at the mountain cliffs.  The mountains are unimpressed, and no movement catches my eye.  My fireteam asks me what I saw, yet I am only able to respond that it was just a feeling.

The nights though, are what truly disturb me.  Every moment I spend in slumber, I am barraged by visions of shadowed beings circling me.  I sit in the sleeping bag, screaming at the apparitions, pleading my team to help me.

Still, my Marines cannot hear me, and I see them sleep unnoticing of my torture.  The man on guard stares up in the mountains, never noticing the dark figures that mock me.

The most eerie thing about these dreams is the fact that all of them are in silence.  I know I am shouting, and can feel my vocal chords burn from overuse, yet nothing is heard.  The black figures open wide gaping mouths in my face, yet no sound comes out.

In the mornings after these dreams, the figures are gone, and I force myself to not think of them.  Yet I spend every waking moment, questioning my sanity.

I awake on the fourth day that we have spent on the path relieved to be ridded of my nightly horrors. Today we would be arriving back at the base camp, and hopefully I would finally be able escape the visions.

We travel for several hours without stopping.  The one thing I have notice in the time I had spent on the southern path, each day became easier to travel.  At first I simply believe it to be due to my lungs becoming accustomed to higher altitude.  At the same time, something else has changed.  Even though I spend each night in sleepless misery, the time I spend awake I feel exhilarated.  The high mountain air, once icy and bitter, is now cool and calming.  The miles pass without me tiring, and my team is almost constantly (or at least, as it seems to me) asking for a moment to rest, that they can't keep up with my pace.

At the same time, my hearing has become more acute.  Each foot fall, the sound of a rock tumbling down the cliffs, the sounds of my two men breathing behind me-

The thought causes me to stop short.  I hear two men.

Only two men.

I turn, around, to see Amir and Lopez laboring up the rocky mountain pass.  They look exhausted, drained from the hike so far.

"Where the hell are Gordon and Daniel?" I shout, causing the Marine and the guide to look up at me confused.

They turn, and look behind themselves.  We look back at the path we had just travelled, searching for the two marines.  They are nowhere to be seen.

"Did they say they were stopping?" I ask again, demanding some sort of explanation.

Both shake their heads slowly, fear replacing their tired features.

"Oh man," says Lopez, craning his neck to see farther down the path, "did they fall back at that cliff?"

I think back to the area of the path he was referring to.  About a kilometer back, there is a chasm that opens up near the trail, splitting the route.  The path was wide enough that they should have been able to get by without having to get near to the chasm, but if they weren't paying attention…

"We're going back," I say, dropping my pack where I stand, and begin to jog to the cliff, only carrying my rifle.

I can hear the two other men following behind me, dropping their packs in the dirt road as well.  After a while their footfalls fall farther away, and I realize they are falling behind.  Still, I pay this no mind, desperate to reach the chasm and find my lost marines.

When I reach the chasm, I stared down into the indention, desperately trying to make out any figures below.  I shout out my marine's names, hoping to hear a response.

No sound comes up from the darkness, only the echoes of my own frightened voice bounding off of the stone.

I raise my head, and begin to pace back and forth on the trail.  This can't be happening.  It wasn't possible.  How do two men just disappear without a sound?

A few moments go by before Amir and Lopez catch up to me, panting hard.  They look up at me, their faces hopeful.  I frown, and shake my head.

Lopez looks down into the chasm, him too now shaking his head, his mouth in an open frown.

"No way, hombre.  They've gotta be okay," he says, his voice cracking.

Lopez and Daniel were extremely close.  Their friendship reminds me that both of those boys had families, friends back home.

And you failed them, my mind accuses.

No.  I am not going to give up on them.

"Come on," I say, turning back down the road.  I walk with a long stride, determination filling my steps.

"What?" starts Lopez, "Marcus, we ain't just gonna leave them out here, are we?"

Even though I can't see his face behind me, I can hear the pleading in his voice.

"No, we aren't leaving them behind.  We're going to get back to base camp, and call in reinforcements, and a search party."

"What?  But what about your mission, Corporal?"  This time, it is Amir.

I turn around, staring hard back at our guide.  He seems to tremble a little bit, though I am not sure why.  Is it my gaze?

"Two of my men just disappeared from right underneath my watch, Amir.  Either they have fallen down that chasm, in which case we are going to need heavy equipment to get them out of there, or they've been taken out by insurgents."

I let that sink in for a moment, before turning around and jogging back to where we had left our packs.  The men are close behind me this time, and I make sure to go at a pace where they can keep up.

Our packs are still there, undisturbed, thankfully.  We place them back on our shoulders, before once again making our way back to base camp.  The pace is faster than before, but my men don't complain.  They realize the risk of taking up too much time.

I try to use my hand held radio to make contact with the camp as we walk, but all I get is static.  It must be the mountains screwing with the signal.  Normally we would have a stronger pack radio as well, however, that disappeared with our assist rifleman, Gordon.

The journey back to the base camp is in silence, and heavy tension fills the air.  The sensation has returned to me once again, only far stronger than ever before.  It is as if the mountains here are watching me with almighty judgment, waiting for me to make the one foolish move, and send me to my death.  They are waiting for me to finally lose my mind.

I can't though.  I cannot allow myself to lose my cool, not now.  Lives depended on my decisions, and I would not allow these sensations to control me, not any more.

Finally, we arrive back at the small valley where base camp is set up.  The sun is high in the sky, and the valley gives the appearance of reassurance, and security from the judging mountains.  Immediately, I can tell there is something wrong.

The base camp is gone.  The tents, sleeping bags, and the other fireteam are all gone.  The only thing that remains are the Humvees, which are in terrible condition.  They appear as if they have been abandoned to the elements here for months, if not years.  Their bullet proof windows are busted in, their armored sides rusted and doors are left open.

We stare at the sight for several moments in complete shock.  We all realize what we see is completely impossible, that this couldn't be reality.

Could it?

"Search the area.  See if you can find anything of use."

I make the realization that it is my own voice saying this, the order completely from the autopilot of my mind.

"Marcus, man, what the hell is going on here?" asks Lopez, his voice small and quiet.

I turn and look at my rifleman.  Right now, he seems so young and afraid, yet I am only a few years older than him.

He's depending on your leadership.  Don't let him down.

I then look over at Amir, who seems to be in a daze.  His mouth hangs open a little, and his hands are shaking.  He simply just stares at the decrepit vehicles.

I take a deep breath, and try to calm my nerves.  I will not lose myself.

"I don't know," I admit, "but I do know this.  We need to get an evac out of here ASAP, or whatever happened to the rest of the squad…"  I pause.

"May happen to us."


III – The Decent


We walk all throughout the former camp.  Grass has grown where the tents and sleeping bags had once been, again suggesting that no one had been in this area for a great while.  I force myself to ignore that fact, and look for something useful.

It's not as if I am looking for anything specific at this point.  Just something that would help us, or explain what happened to the rest of the squad.

"Marcus!  Check it out, there's a pack radio in this Humvee," shouts Lopez, who had been searching them after establishing that both vehicles were no longer able to start.

Amir and I quickly jog over to the Humvee, and stand next to the open door where Lopez sits.  In his hands is a large radio that looks to be in good condition, and he is working the dials on it.

"Does it work?" I ask.

He works the dials of the radio for several more seconds, before he gets a static response.  His face lights up in hope and my spirits rise as well.  If the radio is working, it means that we will be able to get an evac out of here.

"Let me see it Lopez," I order, and he moves the radio closer to me on the seat.  I pick up the field phone off of the top, and hear static once again resounding out of it.  I move the dials up and down, searching for the correct frequency I want.  Finally, I find it, and set it to "sending".

"Mayday, mayday, mayday, this is Sargent Marcus Rodriquez of 11th Platoon, 2nd Battalion, 8th Marines.  We are in need of assistance and require an immediate evac.  Do you copy, over?"

There is a moment of static, and no reply.  I repeat what I said, adding our longitude and latitude.  Again, there is more static, and my hopes begin to fall, until a female voice comes on.  The only problem is that I can't understand what she is saying, as it is in a different language.

"What the hell," I think, trying to figure out why this frequency doesn't have an English speaker.

Frustrated, and shove the phone and cord of the radio over to Amir.

"Damn it, I can't understand a word.  Do you know what she is saying?"

He listens for a moment, a puzzled look on his face.  He nods slowly after a moment.

"Yes, yes, I believe I know.  It is not Persian or Pashto, but it sounds like Wakhi."

Wakhi.  That was the language used by the inhabitants that live in this region.  For whatever reason, that doesn't bode well with me.

"Repeat my mayday call," I order, hoping that the lady would be able to help us, whoever she was.

Amir does so, and after a few seconds there is no response.  Then, an ear piercing screech resounds from the radio, causing Amir to drop the phone and cord.  It tumbles to the ground, knocking over the rest of the radio as well.  Even though the radio is now broken in half, the screech continues from the phone.  We all stare down at the decrepit piece of equipment, eyes wide.

The screech grows louder, and begins to change.  After several seconds the sound has become a high cackle, not just coming from the radio, but resounding through the valley.  It is not the fuzzed sound of a radio transmission, but is clear and harsh.  The sound shakes the valley walls, as if it is the valley itself laughing at us, ridiculing our plight.

I am frozen in trepidation.  In some far away part of my mind, I realize that Amir and Lopez are completely still as well, their jaws clenched and muscles taunt.

Time passes.  As to how much time, I am not sure. It could have been seconds, several minutes, an hour, but finally the laughing stops.  It echoes for a good while across the stone walls, but the noise dies down eventually.

When it does though, Lopez has his rifle raised at Amir.

"What's going on!?  What's happening to us!?" the rifleman shouts, jabbing the M16 at the Guide's chest.

"I- I-, I don't know sir," he stammers his hands rose above his head.

"Lower your gun, Lopez!" I order, my own rifle now raised and aimed at his head.

"He's a part of this man!  He's gotta be!  Everybody's gone, 'cept us."  Tears well up in the young man's eyes and begin to flow down his face.

"Sarge, Gord, Danny… they're all gone Marcus."

The rifleman lets his arms fall to his side, his rifle pointing downward.  Amir lets out a sigh, lowering his hands as well.  I leave my rifle up a few seconds, before finally lowering it as well.

Lopez's face is looking downward, his chin against his chest.  His eyes are clinched shut, and his face is drawn tight as he continues to cry.

I can't blame him for crying.  Inside, I was scared crapless as well.  Still, Sarge's speech wouldn't leave my mind right now, and it reminded me that I had to remain strong.

I lay what I hope to be a reassuring hand on Lopez's shoulder, and he looks up.  His eyes are filled with misery, and I can tell he believes we aren't going to make it out.

"Listen to me, Lopez," I start, "nothing is going to happen to us.  We are going to go get help, and we are going to find out what happened to the rest of the squad.  Everything's going to be alright, okay?"

After a few hesitant moments, he slowly nods his head, and wipes his face with the sleeve of his BDU.

I turn back to Amir, who simply just looks lost.  His eyes are unfocused, and he simply just stares at me.  I nod to him, and he begins to shake his head, as if waking from a day dream.

"We're going to get back to the village," I say, "and see if we can get ahold of command from there.  Then, we are going to get a search party out here, and see what happened to everyone.  Let's move out."

With the Humvee's out of commission, we are forced to make the journey by foot.  Already as we leave the valley, the sun is beginning to lower from the sky, and the mountain shadows begin to lengthen.

The journey will take two days to complete, and we are running dangerously low on food.  After all, we had only packed enough to last us five days.  When the sun's rays finally sink below the horizon, we have already stopped for the night.  With only three of us left within the group, the fact that we are so isolated from the world becomes more and more so apparent.  That also goes with the fact that we haven't seen any evidence of any living creature other than ourselves for the past five days as well.

I take the first watch, allowing my marines, or should I say, marine and guide, to get some much needed rest.  After two hours of eerie silence, I awake Amir for his turn.  As I head to bed, I fear the return of another horror filled sleep.

Yet, surprisingly, I find myself in a fitful slumber.  For the time that I am asleep, I do not dream of anything.  No dark shadows surround me in my dreams.  Instead, there is a presence that is both comforting and reassuring.

Indeed, my sleep is restful, but it is when I awake when the true nightmare begins.

I am thrown from sleep by tenor screams.  I rise from the sleeping bag, not allowing myself the luxury of actually sleeping within it tonight.  I grab my rifle and switch it from safety to fire, a round already chambered within.

I turn to the sound of the screaming, to see Lopez being dragged away by a dark low silhouette, onto a crag high above us on the face of the mountain.  I raise my rifle, but am unable to take the shot as they disappear into the shadows.

To my right I see Amir has awakened as well, and is peering up at the cliff in shock.  Immediately, I run over to the rock wall and begin to climb my way up, but it is a futile attempt.  The stone is difficult to climb, and I realize that there are more pressing things to worry about.

First of all being the fact that there were more silhouettes still in the camp.
In the darkness, they don't have a definite shape.  They have a fluid movement, and seem to hover above the ground like black spirits.  Immediately I can tell that they are the same beings that had been in my dreams for the past several days, and the thought comes into my mind that I might actually be dreaming.

It certainly still has the same feeling.  The shadows didn't make any sounds, which gave them a haunting mood.  In fact, the whole scene is silent.

After several moments, the shadows begin to come closer, slowly.  Their movement causes me to return from an observing state, back to reality.  I raise my M16, and fire a round into one of them.

The blast from the bullet shakes the scene and breaks the silence, causing the shadows to vibrate slightly.  The bullet passes through the silhouette, causing it to disappear like a cloud of smoke, blown away by the impact.

Inside, I feel relieved that the round actually worked.  At the same time, I waste no time in moving on to my next target, and the target after that.  The shadows disappear with each resounding shot, until they have all vanished.  The echoes from the shots vibrate across the mountains, reaching across the range.

After a while, the sound dissipates, and I lower the rifle.  All of the shadows are gone, and the first rays of the dawning sun peek over the mountains.  I look back up to the crag where the shadow being had taken Lopez, yet I can see nothing, and there is only silence.

I fall to my knees.  I had failed to protect my men.  Now, they were all gone, taken by, well, I don't know what.  They had been taken by something not of this world.  With them, I had lost a sense of purpose.  A part of me wanted to simply to die, to end my pathetic existence.

At the same time, fear was now gripping me.  I did not want to die, not yet.  My death would not bring back the ones I've lost; it would only bring more misery to more people.

I rise, and look around the camp.  I see Lopez's things laid across the dirt road, including his pack and his rifle.  I move over to them, my steps automatic and restricted.  I lift the remaining MRE's out of the pack, and pick up the rifle.  I turn back to Amir, and hand him the rifle and half of the meals.

"What are you doing?" he asks.

"You're all I got left right now Amir.  I'm not going to let anyone else die- I mean, disappear on my watch."

His mouth stretches into a thin frown, and he nods, taking the supplies.  Immediately, we head out, though I don't think either of us believes we will make it out of the Wakhan alive at this point.


IV – Alone


Despite our best efforts, we are unable to reach the village by the sunset.  It's common believe between both of us that, for whatever reason, these beings did not like sunlight, and night holds a danger with it that it did not before, an actual reason to be afraid of the dark.

As we pass a more heavily wooded area, an idea crosses my mind, and I suggest to Amir that we stop here for the night.  I explain my idea with him, and he agrees.

Darkness comes quickly, and, as I predicted, the shadow beings soon come after.  They do not wait long, as I suspect they know that we anticipated them.

We were prepared, however.  In the precious hours before nightfall, Amir and I had prepared a large circle of wood, which we had taken from the branches of trees.

Now, the fire from said branches light up the mountain range in a lugubrious glow.  We are surrounded by our own artificial day light.

On the outskirts of the fire, we can see the silhouettes circling, waiting for an opening.  In places where the fire would die down they would rush the opening, attempting to make it through the fire.  At such times, I would fire my M16 into the group, causing them to vanish.  Amir would then replace that area with more wood, closing up the gap.

Still, after hours of fighting, I am running low on ammunition, and there is less and less wood to burn in the circle.  Along with that, the attacks by the shadows haven't lessened, but have increased in both ferocity and numbers.  As we place one of the few remaining unburned branches within the circle onto a dying section of the fire, we finally get the opportunity to hear the shadows.

The shouts and screams of the shadows are haunting to say the least.  They rise and grow with each moment the fire dies, and I soon realize that it is a victory cry.  More and more join into the chant, until there are so many, that they make a dark circling ring that seems to engulf the fire.

At one particular point, the fire dies and the shadows surge through.  I am able to fire enough rounds to keep them at bay, but once Amir attempts to replace the dying area with a new branch, another surge begins.  He is engulfed by the smoky apparitions, and  I can hear his muffled cries as they drag him away.

There is no time to mourn for him.  If I wish to survive, I must keep the flames going.  It is around this time that I realize how tired I have become, and how heavy the rifle has become in my hands, even with my ammunition quickly disappearing.

I stare at my analog watch.  In the glowing embers and dying flames I can see it ticking just past six o'clock in the morning.  It would be another hour before the sun rose.  I quickly come to the realization that if I stayed where I was, I would not survive the night.

I make a decision, right there and then.  If Sarge were still here, he would say it was foolish to go on a whim as such as then, but as my mind grew tired, my instincts were taking control.

As the final surge of shadows rushes through the weakened flame, I run.  I run as fast as I can, desperate to reach the village.  Never have I moved at this speed, nor have I ever been this desperate.  On either side of me I can see the smoked figures speeding alongside me waiting for the opportunity to strike.

To my surprise, few actually try to attack me.  Those that do, disappear under the blows of my rifle's bullets.  The feeling of tiredness that had washed over me during the battle in the fire has left me, and I feel an exhilaration that I had not felt since I was a young child.

After several minutes of running, still not exhausted, I quicken my pace, actually putting distance between me and the shadows.  How far back they are I cannot tell, as their victory screams had stopped once I had broken from the circle, and they had made their chase in their usual complete silence.

Forty minutes pass, and as I look back, I can no longer see them behind me.  At the same time, I can begin to make out where the mountain pass opens up into the village we originate from.  My heart is joyous, as I realize I have beaten these abstruse predators.

I try to shout out for help as I near the valley, but I am panting too hard to make out any words.  As I enter the valley, I can see the village at the far end.  It is quiet and tranquil, no doubt with the inhabitants sleeping inside their smoke worn stone houses.

As I finally near the abodes, I slow down, catching my breath.  My urgency is gone, replaced by relief and confidence.

As I arrive in the village, the morning rays break through the horizon.  I smile, greeting the dawning sun.  I close my eyes, enjoying the generous warmth that wraps around my body.

I sigh, overjoyed that I am still alive. I am about to call out to the sleeping villagers, when I realize something.

There are no goats anywhere to be seen.

This would not surprise me if it had been in the winter months, when the mountains become extremely cold, even this far down.  During the winter, the goats would sleep in the same houses the villagers slept, in order to ensure their livestock remained warm, but it is high summer, and tonight there is only a cool breeze running through the valley.

So where are the goats?

I frown, and walk silently over to the closest house.  It is quiet, even though the villagers should be awakening now.  I look into the entryway.

The room is empty, undisturbed.  The hay that usually covers the floor in these houses is gone, and no one sleeps on the stone indents in the walls.

No.

I run from this house, moving to the next abode.  It is in the same condition.

No.

I run by every single house, looking through each one.  They are all empty.

As I finish searching the final house, I walk to the middle of the village, my feet dragging in the dirt.  I fall to my knees, exhausted and dreary.

In the corner of my eye, I see something glinting on the cliffs.  I turn my head, slowly, my eyelids growing heavy.  As I stare up at the mountain, my eyes grow wide again with fright.

The glint comes from a metal chain, attached to the stone walls of the ancient mountain. And there, chained to the mountain, is a goat.  It is the same goat I had seen when I first arrived here, six eternal days ago.

Only this time, the goat is standing.  Its ravaged rib cage protrudes from its belly, meat clinging precariously to the body by pieces of skin.

It stares at me, patient, and calm.  In that moment, an understanding is made between the goat and I, an understanding between two very different species.

We both understand what it means to be helpless prey to a predator we do not understand.

In that moment, the shadows return.  They flood over the mountains, like smoked avalanches.  As they come closer to me, their shape becomes more defined, and comprehendible to my eyes.

The shadows become smaller in number, focusing, as if I had seen them in double vision all this time.  When they finally stand before me, encircling them, I final see them for what they are.

Three black tigers stand before me, proud and powerful.  They stare at me on eye level, as I am still on my knees.  I have not the strength to rise to my feet, or raise my near empty rifle, nor the will to do so.  I accept my fate.

I close my eyes.  I can hear them walk towards me on soft padded paws.  As they come closer, I can feel their hot breath on my face.  Other than this, there is complete and utter silence across the village, across the valley, and across the mountain range.

Then it hits me.  The sensation I had these several days returns, though it has completely changed.  With it, comes the roar that raises the hairs on the back of my neck, and chills my very soul.

I open my eyes, to see the tigers have turned to the cry as well.  It does not shake the valley the way the cackling from the radio or shouts of the shadows during the battle within the fire.  Instead, it reverberates within me, echoing fury and anger.

I look back up to the crag where the goat stood, but a goat no longer stands there.

Instead, the goat is now a snow leopard.  The chains are gone, and she stands tall, her mouth snarling with the roar.  Her white spotted coat glimmers in the morning light, giving her a silver aura.

She leaps down from her perch, flying through the air.  Landing in the middle of the three tigers, she is crouched and ready for battle.  She and the largest tiger stare at each other for several moments, a silent conversation raging in their eyes.

In that moment, an icy heat begins to penetrate my left arm, and I reflexively look down at it.  Under my uniform, it tingles and I can make out a faint glow beneath the sleeve.

Hesitantly, I pull the sleeve back with my right hand.  On my arm is a scar I had never seen before, glowing the same golden aura that comes from the snow leopard.

Suddenly, the animals' auras begin to grow brighter, blinding me.  I cover my eyes with my left arm.  Once the light dims behind my arm, I lower it, to see the predators have changed once again.

They are now all human.  The tigers are now men in dark homespun robes, their black hair long and flowing over their shoulders.  The snow leopard is now a young woman, who is also wearing a robe, though hers is a pure white, a vibrant contrast to her dark hair.

All of them share the dark features of the Wakhi people, their tanned skin freckled.  The men's faces are hidden by long beards.

An exchange goes on between the woman and the tallest man, whom I assume is the leader of the three.  It is in what I assume to be Wakhi, but I am not sure.  It sounds like the same language I heard when listening to the radio, but this is different.  It sounds simply more pure and more refined.

Finally, after going back and forth, the largest man laughs at the woman, who looks up at the taller man with determination.  He shakes his head, grinning at the woman and me.

Then, in perfect English, he says, "You are a lucky fool, American.  This Pes is looking out for you."

With that, the three men vanish into a light grey smoke, which floats away in the breeze.

I look at the smoke raising into the sky, then back at the young woman.  She lets out a long sigh, then turns and smiles at me.  She holds out her hand, offering to help me up.

I lift my left hand and place it in hers.  She quickly lifts me to my feet, with strength that catches me off guard.  So quick in fact, that I am unable to keep my balance, and begin to fall back.

She catches me, holding me close in an embrace.  She is a head shorter than me, and she nuzzles her head under my chin.

In that moment, I find a serene peace that I have not felt in days.  Actually, I don't think I've ever felt this way.  I feel so happy, so comforted, that another part of me feels guilty.

After all, I can't help but think of the rest of my squad.  Gordon, Lopez, Danny, Amir, Sarge… all of them are gone.  And I can't help but wonder…

"Why me?" I whisper, staring out into the mountain valley.

"Hm?" the woman asks, looking up.

"I mean, why me?  Why did you choose me?"

"Because, Marcus," she says, smiling, "you reached out and felt me, and you understood."


V – Within the Wakhan


Nisar couldn't believe their luck.  He and his cameraman, Mark Smith, had been searching this region months without finding anything, and in one day they see not just one, but two snow leopards.  It was rare to see a pair together this early in the season, as mating season is begins in late November to early December.

They were just about to finish filming the two leopards who had taken down a markhor, one of the wild goats that inhabit the Hindu Kush.  Usually snow leopards hunt alone as well, and this footage was an extraordinary find.

Nisar Malink is a Pakistani Journalist who had been for the past several months hiked across northern Pakistan in search of the snow leopard.  The animal was incredibly elusive, and lived in terrain that was extremely difficult to travel through.  Moments like these though, seeing the graceful animals hunt, made it all worth it.

Still, Nisar couldn't help but worry for these leopards.  The region the animals had called home for centuries had become torn up by several wars over the past decades.  The Soviet Invasion, the Afghan Civil War, and especially the American War have been destroying the habitat.

The signs of the war were ever present as well.  Just three weeks ago, Nisar had heard that an American squad had disappeared north of here, within the Wakhan.  The Taliban claimed responsibility for the attack, and search parties for the missing Americans had finally ended two days ago.

The leopards were almost finished feeding on the goat, and Nisar is about to turn away, when the male lifts his head.  Nisar and the leopard lock gaze.

And the beast smiled.