The Supply Run Anomaly

Supply runs are routine. That's the point of them—predictable, safe, minimal exposure to town. I've been doing the same run every two weeks for three years.

But today something was different.

About halfway to Earl's store, I passed a road I've never seen before. A proper road—gravel, maintained, with a "No Trespassing" sign and fresh tire tracks. It branched off Route 7 at a point I've driven past at least 47 times.

I know that stretch of road. I've memorized it. Counted the fence posts, noted the tree patterns, watched how the light changes with the seasons. There was no road there before last week.

I almost drove past. Almost convinced myself I'd just never noticed. But then I saw the sign:

"PRIVATE PROPERTY - ECOLOGICAL SURVEY ZONE"

That phrase again. The same one from the Smokies closures.

I didn't turn down the road. I'm not suicidal. But I slowed down enough to see a few things:

• The gravel was fresh. Bright white limestone, not yet weathered.
• The tire tracks were from multiple vehicles—at least three different tread patterns.
• About a quarter mile in, the road curved out of sight behind a ridge.

By the time I got to Earl's, I was shaking. Not from fear exactly, but from the realization that my world—the world I thought I understood—is changing around me.

Earl noticed I was off. Offered me a coffee without me asking. When I asked him about the new road, he pretended not to know what I was talking about. But his hands shook when he made my change.

I drove back a different route. I need to think. I need to map this.

The world is getting smaller, and I'm getting closer to the center of something I don't understand yet.