My Stepfather Sent Me To Patrol A Forest Sector With Standalone Wooden Stairs, Then Erased My Coordinates From The Dispatch Server
Jonah took two slow steps backward, the pine needles crunching under his boots. The strange, quiet creak from the stairs had vanished as he put distance between himself and the anomaly. His hand trembled slightly as he raised his phone, snapping several high-resolution photos of the three leather wallets.
He zoomed in on the driver’s licenses, the names etched into his memory: “David Thorne, Sarah Bell, Michael Vance.” Arthur had reported them as runaways back in 1998.
He reached his patrol truck, the metal door cool against his palm. Inside the cab, a cold knot tightened in his stomach. The emergency satellite transponder line, designed for crucial off-grid communication, hung severed from its port. The cut was clean, precise, made with wire shears.
He remembered an obscure addendum in his probationary ranger manual, a declassified geological survey from 1999 that noted anomalous sub-surface readings in Sector 4. Forty feet of solid bedrock, untouched, with no visible foundation markers. The report, dismissed by Arthur as “unfunded research,” described “a dense, non-metallic structure” at the exact coordinates of the staircase. This wasn’t some backwoods construction. This was something else entirely.
Under the passenger floor mat, his fingers brushed against an unsealed manila envelope. It was addressed to County Land Appraiser Gregory Coyle. Inside, a pre-dated boundary clearance form for Sector 4, signed and ready to go.
Arthur hadn’t sent him here by accident. This wasn’t a patrol. It was a setup for a fresh missing-person report.
I gripped my radio, thumb hovering over the transmit button.
“Dispatch, this is Kincaid, Sector Four. Requesting status on emergency transponder.”
Static crackled, then a clipped voice. “Kincaid, this is Central. Your transponder shows offline. Stay put. We have a lockdown for probationary units. Orders from Senior Ranger Drennan.”
“But… the line is cut. I found…”
“Kincaid, confirmed lockdown. Stay off the radio unless it’s a direct threat.” The line clicked dead.
He locked the truck doors, the heavy clunk echoing in the silent cab. He started the engine. The dispatch radio crackled back to life, the announcer’s voice flat: “All probationary units, emergency weather lockdown is now in effect. Repeat, emergency lockdown.”
He put the truck in gear, turning it slowly on the narrow trail. The path led only to the eastern gate.
➡️ Read CHAPTER 4 to continue the story.
⚠️ BAD ENDING / GAME OVER
The forest takes what it’s given, and sometimes, it never lets go. 👈 Click to return to the beginning of the story to choose a different path.
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