By sunrise, the elephant enclosure looked like a construction site hit by a storm. Massive logs, boulders, and uprooted branches were piled into a barricade against the far corner, so high the keepers couldn’t see over it. And behind that wall, the herd stood trembling, guarding something no one understood.
Visitors were evacuated before the gates even opened. Rhinos paced their pens, flamingos clumped together uneasily, and the giraffes refused to come indoors or out, as if every species could feel the tension radiating from the elephants. Every few minutes, the matriarch let out a low, warning rumble that chilled the staff.
Security tape fluttered in the wind while keepers and engineers crowded near the enclosure, whispering theories. Was it fear? Illness? Aggression? No one could explain why gentle giants who rarely panicked were now acting like soldiers fortifying a battlefield. And the most unsettling part was simple, the elephants wouldn’t let anyone near that corner.