COLUMBUS, Ga.—At the corner of McKee and Macon Road, a rock has long carried the language of a community—birthdays, graduations, small celebrations left in paint, shared between neighbors.

This time, the message was different: “No Data Center.”

Kim Hicks stood for hours beneath the Georgia sun, filling in each letter by hand. Cars slowed as they passed. Some neighbors stepped out to talk. Others honked, sticking a hand out of the window and holding a thumbs up in approval.

“It was kind of sad that I had to paint that,” she said.

Hicks is a lifelong resident of this area, about 100 miles southwest of Atlanta. The woods stretch out around creeks and the sounds of the city give way to water, wind and wildlife. She and her husband built their home, raised their sons and imagined—like many do in places like this—that it would remain, if not untouched, largely the same.

This land—roughly 900 acres of forest and creek—has been slated for a proposed development known as Project Ruby, a hyperscale data center campus tied to the rapid expansion of artificial intelligence and cloud computing.

Early plans outline four buildings, with an initial buildout expected to cover about 15 percent of the site, along with the infrastructure needed to power and cool them. The site would include a new substation and on-site transformers, with equipment replaced on a rolling basis every five years.

Much about the project remains unclear. The end user has not been publicly named, and information has been difficult to access, deepening unease among residents.

Project Ruby would rank among the largest facilities now taking shape across the state.

About two hours away, In Newton County, Georgia, residents living near a Meta data center reported wells running dry and water contamination following construction, according to a New York Times investigation.

Elsewhere in the state, Fayetteville officials enacted a temporary moratorium on new data center proposals, pausing development to study potential impacts on water, energy and land use as residents’ concerns grew. Proposals like Project SAIL in Coweta County have drawn similar scrutiny.

The pattern repeats: rapid development, limited transparency and communities left to track the consequences as they unfold.

In Columbus, Hicks and her husband hoped to pass the land down to their children.

Not far from her home, Kendall Creek moves through loblolly pine and sweetgum trees. The water runs clear enough to see the creek bed—flat stones layered with moss, the current slipping around them in slow, steady bends.

Her sons spent their childhood in this creek, wading through the shallows, playing hide-and-seek in the trees along the bank, coming home wet and sunburned. Now, she walks the same banks with her dog.

The creek feeds into a wider network of waterways, eventually reaching the Chattahoochee River, the center of life in nearby Columbus. For generations, people have built their lives around this water—first Indigenous communities, then the city of Columbus as it grew along the river’s edge. What moves through these smaller streams does not stay here—it continues downstream.

“The water is clean,” Hicks said. “It’s so peaceful.”

But this land may soon be transformed.

Project Ruby Taking Shape

What has been disclosed of Project Ruby is enough to shift the scale of what’s being imagined.

The $5 billion facility could draw roughly 600 megawatts of electricity—about what it takes to power the city of Columbus—and use hundreds of thousands of gallons of water each day.

Standing along the creek, the project’s scale is difficult to picture—its size, its sound, how it would fit into the surrounding landscape.

Missy Kendrick, president of Choose Columbus, the region’s nonprofit economic development organization, said the facility could use about 330,000 gallons of water per day at full buildout, sourced from Columbus Water Works.

She has framed the project as an opportunity—one that could position Columbus as a hub for digital infrastructure, with supporters pointing to jobs and tax revenues.

Kendrick said the project would bring an estimated 1,500 construction jobs, with about 50 permanent positions per building once operational.

“We’re not talking about a large job creator,” she said. “But every job counts in our community.”

But some residents question what that growth looks like once construction ends. Data centers, once built, tend to operate with relatively few workers. For many, the question is less about what is envisioned than what changes would have to happen to make it possible.

Locals have raised questions about potential tax incentives tied to the project, including sales tax exemptions and property tax abatements—common tools used to attract large-scale development.

Kendrick said no local tax incentives are being offered, though the project would qualify for state-level sales tax exemptions.

Companies involved in early planning and development—including Atlas Development, Habitat Real Estate Partners and Flint Energies—have appeared at public meetings, offering glimpses of how the project could move forward.

The city’s Planning Advisory Commission recently approved a nonbinding zoning overlay framework for the site, proposing baseline conditions for development. Additional approvals are still required.

But the framework is not limited to Project Ruby. If adopted, it could shape how future data center proposals are reviewed across Muscogee County—setting a precedent for what is allowed, and under what conditions.

Columbus Mayor B.H. “Skip” Henderson said the city is trying to establish expectations and build guardrails early. “We want to do that on the front end so that anybody who comes in here knows the standards that are expected to be met in order to continue the negotiations,” he said.

A Growing Opposition

At a recent City Council meeting, residents filled the room, holding signs marked with a red slash through the words “data center.”

Each had a different story, but the same ask: to be heard, to understand what was coming, to have some say in it. What lingered instead was the sense that answers were limited and their voices, even together, were not enough to slow it down.

They raised questions about water—how much would be drawn, and what might be released back into nearby tributaries. Questions about electricity came next, and the possibility of rising bills. Others pointed to declining property values, wildlife, the hum of machinery and the constant presence of artificial light.

“We don’t have enough information,” said resident Stephen Craft. “We’re being asked to make a 50-plus-year land and infrastructure commitment based on a 20-year economic projection made by people who will not be in this community in 20 years.”

A petition opposing the project has gathered over 4,000 signatures as of March. Outside formal meetings, neighbors have begun knocking on doors, passing out flyers, putting up yard signs and collecting water samples—trying to get ahead of something that already feels in motion.

“We’re hoping you guys did your due diligence, too,” said Leslie Landi, who lives along the creek and had the water tested. “I don’t care if it’s a closed-loop system—it will leach,” she added, referring to concerns that wastewater from cooling systems could be discharged back into local streams with elevated temperatures or residual treatment chemicals. “Who is responsible if my animals die?”

She said that if the data center is built in her backyard, her next move will be out of Columbus.

“They target cities and move with lightning speed,” said resident Darlene Laird, referring to the corporations behind the projects. “Pushing decisions forward before public officials and residents have the time or resources to fully research the long-term impact on their communities.”

For Hicks, that pace has become part of the pressure.

“We feel so rushed and so behind,” said Hicks. “They drop it in your lap and say, ‘Okay, this is what we’re doing.’”

City officials acknowledged the gaps, with several council members emphasizing that they were listening as concerns were raised.

City Council Member Toyia Tucker said she, too, had concerns about how fast the project was moving. “I’m listening,” she added, pointing to the need for stronger regulations and a community benefit agreement.

But for many, the feeling lingered that being heard and being listened to were not the same.

Calls for a pause followed—as opponents proposed time to study environmental impacts, build clearer regulations and understand what this kind of development requires. Some said no set of conditions would be enough.

“My granddaughter is not old enough to vote,” one resident told council members. “But we are making plans for the future that belong to her.”

Beyond the Project Site

Paul Olson stood at the microphone and pointed to what he saw as a disconnect between decision-makers and those living closest to the project.

“The mayor and Missy don’t live anywhere near this place,” he said, referring to Kendrick, president of Choose Columbus.

Olson called for stronger protections, arguing that any ordinance should go beyond the existing city code. He raised concerns about state-level tax exemptions and what he described as tens of millions of dollars in potential property tax breaks, calling it “corporate welfare.”

“They don’t talk about the thousands of people losing their jobs because of AI,” he said, citing research showing automation could disproportionately impact Black workers.

Black workers remain overrepresented in industries more vulnerable to automation, including retail, administrative work and healthcare support—raising questions about who benefits from the growth of AI, and who is left more exposed to its disruptions.

Olson called for a referendum, arguing that residents most affected should have a say.

The deadline to place an issue on the May ballot, however, had already passed.

Closed-Loop Systems, Not Quite Closed

Developers often describe closed-loop cooling systems as a way to reuse water and reduce environmental impact. But in practice, experts say, the name is misleading.

“They’re not truly closed,” said Chris Manganiello, water policy director at Chattahoochee Riverkeeper. He said water is lost through evaporation and must be replaced.

Even where water capacity exists on paper, Manganiello said, the concern is how those demands hold up under strain.

“What gives me pause is what happens when there’s a drought,” he said. “These facilities run at full capacity in the hottest months—at the same time water supplies can be most strained.”

Summers in Muscogee County often settle into long stretches of 90-degree heat, days stacked on top of each other without relief. In recent years, the region has also experienced periodic drought conditions, placing additional pressure on local water systems. It is during those periods, he said, that competing demands for water can begin to collide.

“We could get to a place where supply is compromised,” Manganiello said, “and communities have to decide who gets the water that’s needed.”

As temperatures rise and rainfall patterns shift, those pressures may intensify.

He also noted that closed-loop systems typically require more energy to service the data center. “And that energy,” he said, “depending on how it’s generated, could have a water impact.”

He clarified that natural gas, coal and nuclear facilities all draw different amounts of water.

Some of the water from the data center system could return to creeks like Kendall.

Standing at the bank, the current looks clear.

Experts say cooling systems that discharge heated water containing salts, metals and treatment chemicals can introduce shifts in temperature and chemistry that can ripple outward. Fish and amphibians are often the first to respond, as oxygen levels change and breeding cycles are disrupted.

Researchers describe headwaters as the lifeblood of river systems.

What happens here feeds into larger waterways and eventually the Chattahoochee River.

Power Under Pressure

As demand grows, it is also reshaping how energy is produced.

Facilities like this operate around the clock, Manganiello said. The demand doesn’t drop—and the system around it has to adjust.

In Georgia, utilities are already preparing for a surge in demand, driven in part by data centers. Over the next decade, that demand is expected to rise sharply.

Some of that response is already visible.

In December, state regulators approved a major expansion of natural gas infrastructure tied to rising electricity demand, including from data centers. The plan includes additions across multiple facilities and could roughly add 10 gigawatts of capacity to the grid.

Fossil fuel plants that had once been expected to close are now being extended—kept online longer to help meet growing electricity needs. Each extension stretches the timeline of the state’s energy transition, pushing back when those systems might otherwise be replaced with cleaner resources.

Data centers rely on a network of energy and infrastructure that spreads far beyond the site itself, spreading their environmental and economic impacts outward. As that system expands to meet new demand, another question begins to surface: who ultimately pays for the infrastructure required to sustain it?

Potential Costs to Consumers

Across Georgia, preparations for increased demand are already underway.

Researchers say that without stronger safeguards, those costs may not fall entirely on the companies driving demand. Instead, they can be distributed across the broader customer base—appearing gradually in monthly bills.

In Muscogee County, that possibility has surfaced in public meetings.

Residents have raised concerns about rising electricity costs, questioning whether communities could end up subsidizing the infrastructure required to power large-scale development.

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The issue is not just how much energy these facilities use, but how the systems behind them—new transmission lines, substations and generation capacity—are funded.

Some supporters point to financing structures tied to Georgia Power, arguing that certain costs may already be offset in ways that could prevent them from being passed directly onto consumers. Federal officials recently announced a $26.5 billion loan to utilities in Georgia and Alabama—framed as a way to lower borrowing costs and keep electricity affordable as demand rises, including from data centers.

But how those savings are realized—and whether they ultimately reach customers—remains dependent on regulatory decisions and how the projects move forward.

Efforts to address those concerns stalled at the state level this year. Lawmakers adjourned the 2026 legislative session without passing any measures aimed at regulating data center expansion, scaling back tax incentives or protecting ratepayers from rising energy costs. Several proposals—including bills that would have reduced tax breaks, increased transparency around water and energy use, or required large electricity users to cover more of their infrastructure costs—failed to reach a final vote, leaving existing policies largely unchanged.

The Trump administration has also announced a “ratepayer protection pledge,” a voluntary, nonbinding commitment intended to limit cost shifting onto consumers. Critics note that the pledge carries no enforceable requirements and is effectively toothless.

Locals Concerned About Life on the Land

Residents concerned about data center development also express concerns about possible impacts on land abundant with wildlife. Bald eagles fly overhead. Woodpeckers nest along the tree line. Foxes slip through the brush, and deer cross the land at dusk. It’s those patterns, they say, that feel most at risk if the landscape begins to change.

Some have raised concerns about gopher tortoises—an often-unseen presence, but a critical one. The keystone species is known for burrowing deep into the ground, creating shelter used by dozens of other animals.

Matt Elliott, a regional ecologist with the Georgia Department of Natural Resources, said the area has not been designated as a protected gopher tortoise habitat, and his office has not yet received a request to formally review the project. He noted the site lies near the Upatoi Ravines Natural Area, where rare species have been documented, including relict trillium, fringed campion and the tricolored bat.

Even when impacts are not immediately visible, researchers say, they can begin to move quietly through a landscape. Clearing land reshapes how the remaining space functions.

“The land use itself is going to split apart ecosystems and take up space that could otherwise be open land,” said Quentin Good, a policy analyst with Frontier Group, a nonprofit think tank, expressing concerns about data center development.

That shift would unfold along forest edges, in ravines and through connected waterways—spaces that depend on continuity. For animals that range across them, the changes are often gradual. Deer are pushed closer to roads or into small pockets of land.

Sound and light follow. A constant mechanical hum from data centers, high and unbroken, can settle into the background, opponents say. Bright, continuous lighting changes the rhythm of the night, disrupting species that rely on darkness to move and hunt. Birds can become disoriented, drawn off course or kept in motion longer than they would naturally be, with fewer places left to rest.

An Uncertain Future for Muscogee County

Project Ruby remains in its early stages. More approvals, more studies, more decisions lie ahead.

For Hicks, the stakes are close to home.

“You’ve got hundreds of acres of woods to roam in and creeks to play in,” she said. “You just can’t do that in the city.”

It’s what brought her to Upatoi. It’s what she sees drawing young families now.

“It breaks my heart,” she said, “because that was me 25 years ago.”

What unsettles her is not just the possibility of change, but how quickly it could arrive, and how little say she feels in it.

She thinks about the everyday moments shared here—neighbors taking their kids down to the creek to fish, children camping along the banks, teenagers riding horses through the woods to the water, evenings spent outside where the quiet is broken only by the sounds of wildlife.

For her, it’s simple: “The benefit does not outweigh the damage it’s going to do—to the land, to the neighbors, to the people around here.”

Days after it was painted, the rock at McKee and Macon Road was covered in solid white—her message buried beneath the paint.