I’m A Park Ranger At Tower 9. My Partner Just Looked At Me With A Hollow Smile And Said, “it’s Beautiful Beneath The Ground.” I Don’t Think She’s Human Anymore.
I slowed down, debating whether to stop and check on them. The Code Black alert had specifically said not to approach civilians, but these people looked like they needed help.
The father, who looked to be in his mid-40s with a gray beard and wearing a flannel shirt, turned his head to watch my truck pass. But his expression never changed. It was blank and empty, like someone had erased every thought from behind his eyes.
His wife and three kids were the same. All of them were tracking my vehicle with those hollow stares. I accelerated past them, my hands shaking on the steering wheel. Something was very, very wrong.
I needed to get back to my tower and lock the door like the alert said. I needed to wait for someone to explain what the hell was happening. But I knew deep in my gut that no explanation was going to make any of this make sense.
Protocol Code Black
When I finally pulled up to Tower 9, I saw another ranger’s vehicle parked at the base. It was Denise Kowalski’s truck, unmistakable with its “save the pollinators” bumper sticker and the dent in the rear fender. Denise was stationed at Tower 12, about 15 miles south of my position. There was no reason for her to be here.
I climbed out slowly, keeping one hand near the pepper spray on my belt.
*”Denise? You up there?”*
My voice echoed in the morning stillness. There was no response.
The tower door was open, which violated every security protocol we had. I started climbing the stairs, each step sending a metallic clang echoing through the structure.
About halfway up, I could see into the observation room through the large windows. Denise was sitting in my chair, her back to me, perfectly motionless.
*”Denise, what are you doing in my tower?”*
I reached the top and pushed open the door to the observation deck. She didn’t turn around and didn’t acknowledge my presence at all.
I walked around to face her and felt my blood turn to ice. Her eyes were open but unfocused, staring at something I couldn’t see. Her hands were in her lap, and her breathing was so shallow I could barely detect it.
Most disturbing was the smile. It was a slight upturn of her lips that didn’t reach her eyes, giving her face an uncanny valley quality that made me want to run.
*”Denise, can you hear me?”*
I waved my hand in front of her face. Nothing.
I checked her pulse. It was steady but slow. Her skin was room temperature, not feverish or cold.
Medically, she seemed fine, but something was clearly profoundly wrong. That’s when I noticed what was on my desk. Someone had arranged my equipment—compass, topographic maps, emergency manual—into a pattern.
The compass was pointing northeast, not north. The maps were folded to show a specific area about 20 miles from here, circled in red marker. And the emergency manual was open to a page I’d never seen before, tucked into the back sections past all the standard protocols.
The page was titled “Code Black Existential Threat Response.” My hands trembled as I picked up the manual and started reading.
*”Code Black is to be activated only when standard threat assessment parameters have been exceeded and conventional response protocols are deemed insufficient. This classification indicates the presence of an anomalous entity or phenomenon that poses a direct threat to human cognitive function, biological integrity, or consensus reality. All rangers are to immediately cease normal operations and follow lockdown procedures until specialized response teams arrive. Under no circumstances should rangers attempt to: one, communicate with affected individuals; two, investigate the source of the anomaly; three, leave their designated safe zones; four, ignore visual, auditory, or sensory hallucinations; five, trust any communications that deviate from established protocol verification methods. Code Black scenarios may include but are not limited to reality distortion events, mass psychological contamination, unidentified biological agents, or confirmed presence of entities outside normal classification systems.”*
I read the page three times, trying to make sense of words that felt like they were written in a foreign language despite being in English. Reality distortion events? Entities outside normal classification? This read like science fiction, not forestry service protocol.
I looked up at Denise, still sitting in my chair with that horrible empty smile. I felt pieces clicking together in my brain that I desperately wanted to stay separate.
The stripped trees in a perfect circle and the dead ground. The spontaneously igniting flares. The family at the campsite with their hollow stares. Denise sitting here like a puppet with cut strings.
This wasn’t a natural disaster. This wasn’t vandals or poachers or illegal activity. This was something else, something that had protocols buried in the back of manuals where most rangers would never find them. Something that had happened before.
My radio crackled to life. It wasn’t static this time, but that same calm voice from earlier.
*”Ranger Callahan, we’re tracking your location. Stay in your tower. Do not interact with the compromised individual. Do not attempt to leave. Response teams are en route.”*
*”Who is this? What’s happening to Denise? What the hell is Code Black?”*
I was shouting now, 3 years of professional composure cracking like thin ice.
*”Rangers are not required to understand the full scope of Code Black scenarios. Your job is to maintain position and wait for extraction. The individual in your tower is exhibiting Class 3 contamination symptoms. She is no longer capable of self-directed thought or action. Do not attempt to help her. Do not let her touch you.”*
The transmission ended. I backed away from Denise slowly, putting the desk between us. She didn’t move or react, just kept staring at nothing with that smile.
Class 3 contamination. The words rattled around my skull.
I grabbed my phone out of habit, even though I knew there’d be no signal. The screen was lit up with a notification I’d somehow missed. It was a single text message from an unknown number sent at 6:34 a.m., before the Code Black alert and before I found the stripped trees.
The message read:
*”It came from beneath the fire lookout. We tried to seal it but the aperture is expanding. Don’t look directly at it. Don’t listen to the singing. It gets inside your head and makes you want to help it grow.”*
Below the text was a photo. I almost deleted it without looking, but something made me tap to open it.
The image showed a crack in the ground, maybe 3 feet wide, glowing with a blue-white light that seemed to pulse like a heartbeat. Standing around the crack were five rangers I didn’t recognize, all with that same blank expression and slight smile that Denise was wearing right now.
The photo’s metadata showed it was taken at 4:17 a.m., less than 3 hours ago. It was taken somewhere in the northwest sector, near the seismic station, near the circle of stripped trees, near where I’d been standing 20 minutes ago.
