All Chapters of Field Team 42: Paranormal Responders: Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

As Mont pulled out a detailed map of the area he’d picked up in the S.H.A.D.E. cabin, I was once again thankful that the Dirt storm as a paranormal event in 2024 wasn’t like the Dust Bowl of the 1930’s. Not only would we have been unable to survive being outside in the 1930’s storms as the dust would have suffocated us, but there would not have been enough light to read Mont’s map.Mont came over and asked Mitch and me for opinions on his route. Mitch obviously also had outdoor orienteering skills in his background, while I was, as had been common throughout my life, being seen increasingly as “The Professor”, or “The Renaissance Man”, who might have some useful knowledge on anything. Sometimes, I reminded myself of the bard character type in Dungeons & Dragons who was supposed to have a vast personal knowledge base and a general level of skill in lots of diverse things, but not the specialized skill of a true, dedicated warrior or wizard. Both Mitch and I agreed Mont’s choice of rou

Racelle ran upstairs, taking the stairs two at a time. We could hear her footsteps entering different rooms over our heads before returning to the staircase to call down to us. “There’s a lot of them, well over fifty, coming from the road. I don’t see any coming from any other direction.” “Over fifty is more than enough to zurround the house,” Dr. Schnell remarked. “This is it,” Mont said. “Everyone ready?”********* While Dr. Schnell had been telling his story earlier, and we men had been barricading the doors and windows, Jonie, Rachelle, Liz, and Spitfire had been busy. Using some equipment from Spitfire’s pocket dimension, they had popped open a gun safe in the master bedroom on the first floor off the kitchen. Dr. Schnell had found it of course, but had lacked the right tools for breaking into it. The ladies had called us in once they’d gotten it open. Dr. Schnell, Mont, and Mitch were occupied, but I’d walked in to help distribute whatever they’d found inside. The gun safe

That smile, the wickedly gleeful one, flashed again. Then it faded, as a blank, vacant look took over her eyes. She slumped forward and collapsed onto the table, spilling X’s rote gruesse. At the same time, X began speaking. Although it was his voice, it carried the same Hindu Indian accent with which she had just been speaking. “Typical Man in Black. Arrogant. Who said they were immune to us, huh? Who?” I stared at X, or his body being piloted by an ancient spirit, in shock. “That’s right…Carl, is it? Oh, yes.” X’s face bore an inward-looking expression, as though the vetala was exploring X’s memories, which it probably was. “You two are friends! A Man in Black with an actual friend. How extraordinary! That will make this game much more fun than I had originally anticipated. Tell me, Carl, would you kill your friend here to prevent me from killing another?”“Yes,” I said without hesitation. “That’s exactly what X would want me to do.”“That is quite true,” the vetala inhabiting X

We sat on the old hydroponics level, the one Savitri called "the graveyard," where unused grow towers leaned in rusted poses and the drip lines had long since gone dry. It was the quietest spot in Underdenver she could find. A place she came when she didn’t want to be found. Fitting. Because what we were about to do couldn’t be rushed. And couldn’t be overheard.She’d taken "earned vacation time" from her post running nutrient schedules and fungal rot diagnostics to help me conduct a death ritual. It was possibly the most unorthodox paid time off request in Underdenver history. I appreciated her more than I could say.The briefcase lay open between us, the contents illuminated by a clamp light stuck to the side of a fallen rack. Inside: vellum diagrams, annotated in both Sanskrit and Control Code; etched copper tools that gave off a faint metallic tang; a bundle of human hair tied with a red thread; and a vial of something that shimmered like gasoline on water."This isn't a user-frie

X sat on a park bench watching J play. Savitri and I sat on another bench near the dumpling cart. J played with other boys even though they were a few years younger than him and had a ball. It was nice to see J reclaiming a small piece of the normal childhood he’d surely yearned for, even if it was only for an hour. J looked at me occasionally and over at his dad. Then, he went back to playing. J probably wondered why his dad and I weren’t sitting together. Still, I think my presence helped him calm down and enjoy what there was to enjoy about that experience in the park that day. Watching him, I thought about how fragile childhood is and I thought J wasn’t unlike most people in the world trying to enjoy their lives, to live the lives that they know they should be having, growing up and going to school, getting a job or career going, starting a family, having vacations, enjoying friends, all the while knowing, at the corners of their minds that something is wrong at the edges of the