Our most outlandish equipment consisted of a measuring device that had been issued to each of us, which hung from a strap on our belts: a small rectangle of black metal with a glass-covered hole in the middle. All of our foodstuffs were smoked or canned or in packets. We had also been assured that it was safe to live off the land if necessary. We had supplies with us for six months, and another two years' worth of supplies had already been stored at the base camp. The expedition could last days, months, or even years, depending on various stimuli and conditions. Our mission was simple: to continue the government's investigation into the mysteries of Area X, slowly working our way out from base camp. It took four days of hard hiking after crossing the border to reach the coast. She had put us all under hypnosis to cross the border, to make sure we remained calm. The psychologist, who was older than the rest of us, served as the expedition's leader. All of us were women this time, chosen as part of the complex set of variables that governed sending the expeditions. There were four of us: a biologist, an anthropologist, a surveyor, and a psychologist. Looking out over that untroubled landscape, I do not believe any of us could yet see the threat. Our expedition was the first to enter Area X for more than two years, and much of our predecessors' equipment had rusted, their tents and sheds little more than husks. All of this part of the country had been abandoned for decades, for reasons that are not easy to relate. Beyond the marsh flats and the natural canals lies the ocean and, a little farther down the coast, a derelict lighthouse. The tower, which was not supposed to be there, plunges into the earth in a place just before the black pine forest begins to give way to swamp and then the reeds and wind-gnarled trees of the marsh flats.

Acceptance by Jeff VanderMeer