The first tremor wasn't alarming. Kwesi felt it through the worn tires of his boda boda, a faint vibration against the packed earth of the roadside near Kampala. He assumed it was a heavy truck rumbling past on the main highway, hidden by the dense roadside foliage and the morning haze.
He adjusted the crate of mangoes strapped precariously behind him, their sweet scent thick in the humid air.
Another tremor followed, stronger this time. The ground beneath his sandals seemed to shift, a low groan accompanying it, too deep and sustained for any vehicle. Birds startled from the nearby trees, their cries sharp against the sudden quiet. The usual morning sounds—distant traffic, chatter from the market stalls he'd left behind—seemed momentarily muted.
Kwesi frowned, shielding his eyes to peer down the road. Nothing. Just the shimmering heat rising from the tarmac in the distance. He glanced at the sky, clear blue save for a few wisps of cloud. An earthquake? Possible, but rare here, and never like this. This felt different. Slower. Heavier.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. A message from his cousin, Moses, who worked security at a hotel downtown. 'Did you feel that? People are panicking.'
Before Kwesi could reply, a third tremor hit, powerful enough to rattle the crate loose. Several mangoes tumbled onto the dusty ground. "Ah, damn it," he muttered, dismounting quickly. As he bent to retrieve the fruit, the ground shook again, violently this time. He stumbled, catching himself against the motorbike.
That's when he heard it—a sound unlike anything before. It wasn't thunder, nor machinery. It was a deep, guttural roar, impossibly loud, seeming to come from everywhere at once. It vibrated in his bones, a primal sound that bypassed hearing and went straight to fear.
He looked up, scanning the horizon beyond the city's low skyline. Nothing seemed out of place initially. Then, his gaze snagged on something far to the west, something that shouldn't be there.
A shape, immense and scaled, was rising slowly above the distant tree line, eclipsing the morning sun. It was reptilian, monstrously so.
Panic erupted on the road. Cars swerved, horns blared incessantly. People poured from nearby buildings, pointing, shouting, their faces masks of disbelief and terror. Kwesi stood frozen, the fallen mangoes forgotten at his feet.
The shape continued its ascent, impossibly tall, dwarfing buildings, mountains, everything. It resolved into a form horrifyingly familiar, yet grotesquely magnified: an alligator. But this alligator was colossal, its head alone larger than a multi-story building, its length stretching towards the sky like a living skyscraper wrought from nightmare. Its roar echoed again, shaking the very air Kwesi breathed.
His phone rang – Moses again. Kwesi fumbled it, his fingers slick with sudden sweat. "Moses? What is happening?"
"Get out of there!" Moses yelled, his voice strained over a background din of screams and crashing sounds. "It's… they're everywhere! Giant… things! One just came out of the lake! It crushed the Port Bell pier like it was nothing! Kwesi, run!"
The line went dead. Kwesi stared at the silent phone, then back towards the impossible silhouette against the sky. It wasn't just one. Farther off, another shape was rising. And another. Different sizes, but all monstrous, all unmistakably crocodilian. Uganda wasn't even known for alligators; crocodiles, yes, in the parks and rivers, but these… these were abominations.
News alerts flooded his phone screen, headlines screaming about similar sightings in London, Tokyo, Rio de Janeiro. Scaled titans emerging from rivers, swamps, even oceans, indifferent to the flimsy structures of humankind.
Images flickered – a monstrous snout smashing through the Sydney Opera House, a tail swatting helicopters from the sky above New York like bothersome insects. It wasn't localized. It was global.
Kwesi's mind struggled to process the scale of it. Eiffel Tower sized, one report claimed. How? Why? It didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was the raw terror clawing its way up his throat.
He threw his leg back over the boda boda, kicking the engine to life with frantic energy. Forget the mangoes. Forget the market. He needed to get home, check on his grandmother. She lived in a small village nearer the swamps, closer to where the first one seemed to rise.
He gunned the engine, weaving through the growing chaos. People ran blindly, abandoning cars. The air filled with a cacophony of terror – screams, sirens, the distant, earth-shattering bellows of the giants. Overhead, military jets streaked across the sky, looking like tiny silver darts against the impossible backdrop of the creature dominating the western horizon.
The journey was a nightmare. Roads were clogged with fleeing vehicles and terrified pedestrians. Kwesi navigated through alleys and dirt paths, the boda boda's engine whining in protest. Twice, he had to ditch the bike and scramble over abandoned cars when the way became completely blocked.
The ground continued to tremble intermittently, each shudder accompanied by the monstrous roars that seemed to soak into the world's fabric.
He saw glimpses of the destruction filtering in through radio broadcasts crackling from abandoned cars. Bridges down. Buildings collapsing not just from the tremors, but from direct impacts. The creatures moved with a terrifying, ponderous deliberation, crushing everything in their path, seemingly oblivious to the chaos they created. They weren't attacking, not in a coordinated sense. They were simply… moving. Existing on a scale that made human cities nothing more than inconvenient terrain.
Reaching the outskirts of his grandmother's village felt like entering another world. The noise of the city faded, replaced by an unnerving quiet, broken only by the chirping of insects and the distant, bass rumble of the giants. Smoke curled into the sky from several points deeper within the cluster of huts and small houses. Had one come this way?
He abandoned the sputtering boda boda near the village entrance and proceeded on foot, his heart pounding. He called out his grandmother's name, "Nnalongo! Nnalongo, are you here?"
Silence answered him. He jogged faster, navigating the familiar paths, his dread mounting with every step. He saw overturned carts, scattered belongings, a door hanging open, splintered. But no people. It was as if everyone had vanished.
He reached her small, neatly kept home. The door was slightly ajar. Kwesi pushed it open slowly, his hand trembling. "Nnalongo?"
The interior was dim, the familiar smell of woodsmoke and dried herbs filling the air. Everything seemed in place – the woven mats, the clay pots, the small wooden stool where she often sat. Then he saw her, lying on her sleeping mat near the back wall.
Relief washed over him, so potent it made him weak. "Nnalongo! You're alright!" He rushed towards her.
She didn't respond. He knelt beside her, gently touching her shoulder. She was cold. Her eyes were wide, staring sightlessly at the thatched roof. There were no marks on her, no signs of violence. Her expression was one of absolute terror, frozen on her face.
Kwesi recoiled, a choked gasp escaping him. He checked for a pulse, praying, but there was none. She was gone. Had the fear itself killed her? Had she seen one of the creatures up close? He looked around frantically, searching for any clue, any sign of what had happened.
Near the doorway, almost hidden in the shadow, lay a single, massive scale. It was easily the size of Kwesi's hand, thick and ridged, a muddy green-black color. It felt unnaturally heavy, cold as stone. He dropped it as if burned.
One of them had been here. Close enough for this. Had it simply brushed against the small house? Had the sheer presence, the proximity to such an impossible being, been enough to stop her heart?
Grief and despair threatened to engulf him. His grandmother, the anchor of his life since his parents passed, was gone. Taken not by violence, but by the sheer, overwhelming horror of the world's sudden turn.
He sank to the floor beside her, tears blurring his vision. The distant roars of the giants seemed to mock his sorrow.
He stayed there for a long time, the silence of the hut pressing in, broken only by his own quiet sobs and the ever-present, low thrumming that seemed to emanate from the earth itself. Eventually, numbness began to set in, a cold shield against the pain. He knew he couldn't stay. The village wasn't safe; nowhere was safe.
He gently closed his grandmother's eyes, whispering a farewell in Luganda, his voice thick with unshed tears. He covered her with a brightly colored cloth, his hands shaking. He couldn't bury her, not now. He could only hope to survive, to carry her memory.
Stepping back outside, the world felt alien. The sun beat down, indifferent. The smoke still rose in the distance. He needed to move, but where? Kampala was chaos. Other towns were likely the same or worse.
News reports, when he could get a signal, were sporadic and terrifying. Communications networks were failing. Governments seemed paralyzed. The military's efforts were proving futile; conventional weapons barely scratched the creatures' impossibly thick hides.
He remembered Moses mentioning Port Bell, the pier destroyed. That was Lake Victoria. Had the creatures emerged from there? It seemed plausible. Perhaps heading away from the lake, inland, was the best option.
He retrieved his boda boda, relieved the engine still turned over, though it coughed uncertainly.
He started driving again, aimlessly at first, just putting distance between himself and the village, the memories. He avoided main roads, sticking to smaller tracks. The landscape grew more rural, dotted with small farms and stretches of bush. He saw fewer people now, only occasional small groups huddled together, their faces etched with fear and uncertainty, or lone figures fleeing into the wilderness.
As dusk began to settle, casting long, distorted shadows, Kwesi found himself near a denser stretch of woodland. He decided to stop for the night, hiding the bike deep within the trees. He had a small amount of water and a few dried biscuits he'd stuffed in his pockets before leaving Kampala – emergency supplies he always kept. It wasn't much.
He sat with his back against a large tree, listening to the sounds of the approaching night. The usual chorus of insects and nocturnal animals was muted, replaced by an uneasy quiet and the persistent, low-frequency rumble that was now the world's grim background music. He thought of his grandmother, of Moses – was he still alive? – of the sheer, incomprehensible nightmare that had swallowed the planet whole.
Sleep offered little escape, filled with visions of colossal jaws and eyes like ancient, unfeeling moons. He awoke with a start several times, convinced the ground was shaking more intensely, that one of the giants was nearby.
Morning brought no relief, only the continuation of the grim reality. He ate half a biscuit, drank sparingly from his water bottle. He needed a plan, but his mind felt fractured, unable to focus beyond immediate survival.
He decided to continue heading generally west, away from the lake, hoping to find some area untouched, some pocket of safety, however unlikely.
He drove for hours, the terrain becoming rougher. The boda boda struggled, threatening to give out completely. Fuel was also becoming a critical concern.
He passed through another deserted village, this one showing more direct signs of destruction. Huts were flattened, trees snapped like twigs. Immense, three-toed footprints were pressed deep into the earth, each one larger than a car. Water filled them, reflecting the sky. Kwesi stared into one, feeling dizzyingly small, insignificant.
He found a working hand pump in the village center and refilled his water bottle, drinking deeply. While resting, he heard voices – hushed, urgent. Peering around the corner of a partially collapsed building, he saw three people – two men and a woman – scavenging supplies from what looked like a small store. They moved quickly, nervously, constantly glancing towards the sky.
Kwesi hesitated. Approaching others was risky. People were desperate. But being alone was perhaps riskier still. He decided to show himself, raising his hands slowly. "Hello?"
They jumped, whirling around, makeshift weapons – a pipe, a sharpened piece of wood, a heavy wrench – clutched tightly. Their eyes were wide with suspicion and fear.
"I'm not going to hurt you," Kwesi said calmly. "I'm just… looking for somewhere safe. My name is Kwesi."
The woman, who looked gaunt and exhausted, eyed him warily. "Safe? There's nowhere safe now."
"One passed through here early this morning," said the older man, gesturing with the pipe towards the massive footprints. "Didn't even seem to notice us. Just walked right over everything."
"We're heading towards the mountains," the younger man added, his voice tight. "Maybe the rough terrain will deter them. Or at least, fewer people will be there."
It sounded as good a plan as any. "Can I come with you?" Kwesi asked. "My bike is almost out of fuel anyway."
After a tense moment of silent consideration, the older man nodded curtly. "Stick close. Don't cause trouble."
They shared what little food they had scavenged – some tinned fish and stale bread. Kwesi learned their names: Juko (the older man), Sam (the younger), and Adroa (the woman). They had lost family, homes, everything. Their shared trauma forged a fragile bond as they set off on foot, leaving Kwesi's boda boda behind.
They walked for two days, the landscape growing increasingly wild. The air remained heavy with the distant sounds of the giants, a constant reminder of the threat. They saw evidence of the creatures' passage everywhere – swathes of forest flattened, rivers unnaturally dammed by their bulk as they wallowed, immense droppings that poisoned the ground around them.
Military jets occasionally screamed overhead, sometimes followed by distant explosions, but the monstrous roars continued unabated. Hope dwindled with each step. Adroa developed a hacking cough. Juko's optimism, initially a source of strength, began to fray. Sam grew quiet, withdrawn.
On the third day, they were crossing a wide, open savanna when the ground began to shake more violently than ever before. The low rumble escalated into a deafening roar that seemed to split the sky. Juko pointed, his face pale. "Look."
On the horizon, silhouetted against the afternoon sun, was one of the giants. But this one was different. It was moving faster than the others they'd glimpsed, its colossal legs churning, covering kilometers with each stride. And it wasn't alone. Another, slightly smaller, was lumbering behind it. They seemed agitated, their roars overlapping in a terrifying chorus.
"They're heading this way," Adroa whispered, her voice trembling.
"Run!" Juko yelled. "Towards those rocks!" He indicated a cluster of large boulders and sparse trees about half a kilometer away. It was their only chance for cover.
They ran, adrenaline surging through them. Kwesi glanced back. The lead creature was terrifyingly close now. He could see the texture of its scales, the immense power in its legs as they pounded the earth, making it shudder beneath their feet. Its head swung from side to side, colossal jaws slightly open, revealing rows of teeth the size of canoes. Its eyes, ancient and cold, seemed to survey the savanna.
They scrambled into the rocks, huddling together behind the largest boulder as the first giant thundered past. The ground shook so violently they were nearly thrown off their feet. The sheer scale of it, looming over them, blotted out the sun. Its passage stirred up a hurricane of wind and dust. It didn't seem to notice them, its attention fixed on something ahead.
Then the second one approached. It was slower, perhaps older or injured. As it drew level with their hiding place, it paused. Its massive head lowered, nostrils flaring as if testing the air. Kwesi held his breath, pressing himself flat against the rock. Adroa stifled a cough, her body shaking.
The creature's eye, a vast, obsidian orb with a vertical pupil, swiveled towards their hiding spot. It blinked, slow and deliberate. Kwesi felt a cold dread unlike anything he'd ever known. It saw them.
It let out a low growl, a sound that vibrated deep within Kwesi's chest. It took a step closer, its shadow engulfing them completely. Sam whimpered. Juko gripped his pipe, a futile gesture against such overwhelming might.
Kwesi looked at the eye. There was no malice there, no discernible intelligence in the human sense. Just a vast, primal indifference, the same indifference the sky held for the ants crawling below. They were simply… in its way. An insignificant nuisance.
It lowered its head further, its snout nudging against the rocks above them. Dust and pebbles rained down. Kwesi closed his eyes, bracing for the inevitable. He thought of Nnalongo, her face frozen in terror. He thought of Moses, likely dead in the ruins of Kampala. He thought of the pointless absurdity of it all.
But the crushing blow didn't come immediately. Instead, there was a different sound – a high-pitched, piercing shriek echoing from the distance, followed by a tremendous impact somewhere beyond the horizon. The giant alligator beside them lifted its head sharply, its attention diverted.
It let out an answering roar, a sound filled with something akin to agitation, and turned, lumbering ponderously away in the direction of the new sound, following the first creature.
They remained frozen for long minutes after it had gone, the tremors of its passage slowly fading. Dust settled. Adroa finally broke into ragged, gasping coughs.
"What was that?" Sam asked, his voice barely a whisper.
"I don't know," Juko said, slowly getting to his feet. "Fighting? Are they fighting each other?"
Kwesi didn't care. They were alive. That was all that mattered in that moment. But the relief was temporary, overshadowed by the crushing weight of their situation. They were tiny creatures in a world suddenly ruled by titans.
They continued their journey towards the mountains, the encounter leaving them even more shaken. Adroa's condition worsened. By evening, she was feverish, barely able to walk. Juko and Sam supported her, their faces grim.
Kwesi walked slightly ahead, scanning the darkening landscape. He felt a profound sense of isolation, even surrounded by his companions. The world he knew was gone, replaced by a prehistoric nightmare. Survival felt less like a goal and more like a postponement of the inevitable.
They found a small cave system nestled in the foothills of the mountains they'd been aiming for. It offered better shelter than the open woods. They managed to build a small fire just inside the entrance, hidden from view. Adroa lay wrapped in spare cloths, shivering despite the heat. Juko sat staring into the flames, lost in thought. Sam nervously paced the confines of the small cavern.
Kwesi ventured deeper into the cave, seeking a water source Juko thought might be present. The air grew cooler, damper. He rounded a bend and stopped. Water dripped slowly from the ceiling into a clear pool. But it wasn't the water that held his attention.
The cave wall here was covered in paintings. Not ancient San art, but fresh, vivid depictions done in charcoal from the fire, perhaps mixed with mud or plant dyes. They showed the giant alligators. Dozens of them. They showed them emerging from water, crushing buildings, striding across landscapes.
But they also showed something else.
Among the giant reptiles were figures. Humanoid, but distorted. Some seemed to be riding the creatures. Others appeared to be directing them, standing atop their heads, arms outstretched. And in one chilling depiction, several of these figures were gathered around a newly hatched giant alligator, disproportionately small compared to the adults, performing some kind of ritual.
Kwesi stared, his blood running cold. Were these things not natural? Were they weapons? Creations? Controlled by whom? The crude paintings offered no answers, only more terrifying questions.
He backed away slowly, returning to the others. He didn't mention the paintings. What good would it do? It only added another layer of horror to their already unbearable reality.
Adroa passed away during the night. Her breathing simply stopped. They buried her in the soft earth at the back of the cave, marking the spot with a small pile of stones. Juko wept openly. Sam stared blankly, his spirit seemingly broken.
Kwesi felt hollow. Another loss. Another reminder of their fragility. He looked towards the cave entrance, where the first light of dawn was beginning to filter in. The mountains loomed outside, offering a remote, indifferent kind of sanctuary. But sanctuary from what? The creatures? Or whatever intelligence might lie behind them, depicted on the cave wall?
Juko eventually stood up, wiping his eyes. "We keep moving. Higher into the mountains."
Kwesi nodded numbly. Sam didn't respond.
As they stepped out of the cave into the pale morning light, a shadow fell over them. Not the fleeting shadow of a cloud, but something immense, solid. Kwesi looked up, his heart stopping.
Directly overhead, blotting out the sky, hung the underside of one of the giants. It wasn't moving. It simply floated there, impossibly, defying gravity, its colossal belly scales like patterned bedrock miles above. It stretched further than he could see in either direction. Was it dead? Or was it something else entirely?
Then, something detached from the creature's underside. A pod, or a vessel, sleek and dark, descending silently towards the foothills where they stood. It wasn't part of the alligator. It was artificial.
Kwesi remembered the figures in the cave paintings. Riding, directing. His breath hitched. They weren't just random monsters. This was orchestrated.
Juko and Sam stared upwards, mesmerized by the impossible sight. Kwesi grabbed Juko's arm. "We have to hide! Now!"
But it was too late. The descending vessel slowed, hovering a hundred meters above the ground. A section of its underside opened. Kwesi didn't see a weapon, didn't hear a blast. He felt only a sudden, intense cold, a pressure building inside his head.
He looked at Juko, at Sam. Their eyes were wide, fixed on the vessel. A thin trickle of blood seeped from Juko's nose. Sam crumpled to his knees, clutching his head, a silent scream contorting his face.
Kwesi felt his own vision blur, a sharp pain lancing through his skull. He stumbled back towards the cave, desperate for cover, but his legs wouldn't cooperate. He fell, landing hard on the rocky ground. The cold intensified, seeping into his bones. He looked up at the silent, dark vessel, at the impossible alligator hanging motionless in the sky above it.
He understood then, with a clarity that transcended the pain. This wasn't just an invasion or a natural disaster. It was something far stranger, far more terrifying. It was an alteration of reality itself, orchestrated by forces unknown. The giants weren't just beasts; they were tools, or perhaps canvases for something else.
His last conscious thought wasn't of fear, or anger, or sadness for his lost world. It was a single, chilling realization as the cold finally claimed him, freezing the breath in his lungs and stopping his heart: They weren't meant to understand.
They were only meant to be erased, replaced by a new, monstrous landscape, their existence rendered utterly insignificant, a brief footnote before the silence.
His eyes remained open, staring up at the impossible sky, reflecting a world no longer meant for him, or anyone like him. A uniquely brutal, indifferent end beneath the shadow of a silent god-lizard.