Chapter 4: Shadows
Field Station Delta: A paranormal military thriller.
Welcome to Field Station Delta. This novella is a paranormal military thriller that I am releasing as a serial for my readers on Substack.
Day 2, 00:36
Thunder cracked and a flash of blue-white light seared the lowering sky as Senior Airman Emily Metzger lay flat on her back on the frozen ground. Snowflakes whirled in the air.
What’s going on?
She tried to move, but she couldn’t feel her limbs. With difficulty, she managed to turn her head slightly. There were crumpled forms scattered across the clearing; bodies—and body parts—of Airmen and Army Rangers littered the rocky earth, staining the new-fallen snow with spreading pools of crimson.
Nuristan. On the mountain. My God, no.
Metzger struggled again to sit up, but her arms and legs refused to work. She couldn’t even wiggle her fingers and toes.
Am I paralyzed?
A corpse was lying near—the mangled remains of Duke, one of the Rangers. His lifeless eyes were still wide open, staring at Metzger with a frozen expression of surprise and terror. He’d been cut down by his own squad mates when—
Musical notes, like the tinkling of shattered glass, wafted on the frigid night air before fading into a high-pitched lilting sound, a manic laughter that echoed off the harsh stones.
NO…
A tall shape came into Metzger’s field of view. A man dressed in Air Force fatigues. The name CHAVEZ was stitched into the uniform. But it was not Airman Chavez. The man—no, the thing—was bald with pale skin and dark eyes that were larger than those of a normal person. Its thin lips were pulled back in a leering grin. It held a long, thin knife that was dripping with fresh blood.
“Hello. Ginger Spice. Are you. Sitting pretty?”
Metzger blinked, nonplussed at the use of her old nickname. The Pale Man’s grin grew wider. She opened her mouth and tried to scream, but now her voice wouldn’t work. A croaking gasp escaped her lips.
“It’s okay. My little lamb. This won’t. Hurt for long.” The Pale Man stuck out a long, pale tongue and licked the blood off its knife. There was another flash of lightning and a deafening crack of thunder.
Metzger’s blood ran cold. She glanced furtively over at Duke’s body. She knew that a small, round object lay by it, just within her reach—a grenade.
Yes! That’s how this ends. I NEED that grenade, quick. She strained with all her might but couldn’t move her arm even an inch. She gasped again.
The Pale Man chuckled, a sickening, grating sound. “No, no. Not this time. Little lamb. This time. You are mine.” An ivory flute had appeared in its other hand.
God, no! This isn’t how it’s supposed to happen!
As the Thing put the flute to its lips there was another flash and a single note, a piercing tone seemed to fill Metzger’s skull. She squeezed her eyes shut and with a final, tremendous effort of will, she screamed and—
Metzger’s eyes snapped open. She was still lying on her back, but she was now indoors, on a rigid, uncomfortable military cot. It was dark in the room. Thunder growled, but it was far in the distance.
What happened? Where the fuck am I?
Of course, Field Station Delta. The barracks.
Nuristan—it had been a nightmare.
Another fucking nightmare.
She looked at red glare from the clock by her bed and scowled. 00:38.
Terrific. There goes my night.
She tried to roll over and found that she still couldn’t move. Her limbs were unresponsive. She strained with all her might. Nothing.
What the hell? Am I still dreaming?
No, she was most definitely wide awake. Her eyes began to adjust to the dark around her and she could make out the sleeping forms of the other Airmen. She could hear their rhythmic breathing. Someone was snoring gently.
Suddenly, Metzger had the unmistakable apprehension that there was someone – no, something else in the room with them. Her head began to throb with pain, as it had the morning before at the Medicine Wheel. There was a faint ringing in her ears that rose to a sharp pitch and then abruptly stopped.
As Metzger looked about, wild-eyed and frantic, struggling in vain to move her arms or legs, four pitch black shadows emerged from the general darkness of the room. They were vaguely human in shape, but child-sized. For a moment they stood, like diminutive sentinels at the feet of four of the other beds, then, they slid silently towards where Metzger lay, helpless to either fight back or flee.
Her heart was pounding like a bass drum. The shadows converged at the side of the cot and stood there, silent and still, like black holes in the night. Thunder rumbled again, closer this time. Metzger opened her mouth, but the scream died in her throat. Like in the nightmare, she had been struck dumb. In her mind, she heard a voice; a sharp hiss followed by one word, hushed but distinct.
Silence.
The shadows seemed to huddle together for a moment, as if in conversation. Then she perceived the hissing voice again.
It sees. It hears. It knows… It may be useful.
With mounting panic, Metzger had the distinct impression that the shadows, whatever the hell they were, were not speaking to her, but about her.
The dark forms turned toward her. Many dreadful voices, cruel and cold, now reverberated in her mind. Weeks later, when Metzger tried to describe it, the best she could come up with was, “The sound of a hundred angry snakes at the bottom of a dry well.” In reality it was worse. Much, much worse.
You… Will release them…Or your kind shall suffer.
For an instant, a blinding silver-blue flash like lightning filled the room. There was no sound. The other Airmen did not stir. When Metzger could see again, the shadow-creatures were gone. In their place were four glowing bluish globes about the size of basketballs. They hummed faintly and crackled with an inner energy. The balls of light hovered at her bedside for several long moments. Then they sped off across the room and right through the wall on the far side without leaving a hole.
Metzger lay there for several quiet minutes. Thunder grumbled and growled intermittently. A new sound reached her ears—the steady pitter patter of rain on the roof of the barracks. She felt life slowly return to her limbs and body. She sat up. Her squad mates slept on.
What the hell was that? Were those the ‘hitchhikers’ that Groenke talked about? Is this place going to be Nuristan all over again? ‘Release them’... What does that mean? ‘Your kind shall suffer’...
She lay down again. Her head began to ache with a dull throb. She looked over at her clock again: 03:46.
Impossible—it was half past midnight just a few minutes ago… wasn’t it? She felt afraid. Memories of the nightmare, of that terrible night on the Pakistani border, danced and cavorted across her imagination for her torment. She replayed the events over and over in her mind. She could have saved them. If only she’d been faster. If only she’d kept her wits about her. If only…
No. Something deep inside Metzger began to harden, like a blade of tempered steel. She sat up and swung her legs over the edge of the cot. She stared down at her palms in the dark. She balled her hands into fists.
I’ll be damned if I let these fucking things hurt any more of my people.
Day 2, 07:00
Metzger lay on her cot for several hours after the encounter with the threatening shadows, but sleep proved impossible. She was no longer afraid, but questions circled in her mind like ominous crows: What were these “hitchhikers,” really? What did they want?
Nothing good, that was obvious. Should she tell anyone about the experience? Maybe. But who could she trust? Certainly not Dr. Cartwright. If Metzger’s instincts were right, Cartwright brought her to this place precisely to serve as some kind of unwitting paranormal lab rat. Metzger knew she was recruited for this special assignment precisely because of how she survived her last mission. Cartwright considered her an asset to be exploited.
Ever since that night in Nuristan—with the Pale Man—Metzger knew she was somehow different. It wasn’t just psychological—though the PTSD was bad enough. It was like a switch had been flipped somewhere deep inside her. No, that wasn’t quite right. It was more like she had somehow become dimly aware of something awesome and terrible that had always been at work within her innermost being but had been too subtle for her conscious mind to comprehend.
All this stuff was uncharted territory for her. It made her frustrated, angry even. Angry enough to hit something. That’s what made her finally decide to get out of bed and head down to the on-site gym to blow off steam.
Metzger had just finished giving the upright punching bag a good mauling and had paused to catch her breath and take a gulp from her water bottle when she caught a sudden movement out of the corner of her eye. She tensed and turned quickly, but to her surprise she saw it was only Senior Airman Lucy Hopko standing in the doorway.
“Sorry,” Hopko said. “I can come back later if you’d rather not have company.” Her voice was quiet and soft, and she had the same Coal Country accent that Metzger herself had worked so hard to shed after she enlisted. Of all the Airmen in Metzger’s new squadron, Hopko was the most serious and reserved. Aside from a brief “hello” they had barely said two words to one another at last night’s party. Not that Metzger herself had been in much of a chatty mood either.
“No, it’s not a problem if you stay,” said Metzger. “I don’t mind.”
Hopko looked uncomfortable, but nodded and entered without another word, setting her duffel bag down by the pull up bar. She was tall, about an inch or two north of Metzger’s height, and she was fit. Her eyes were dark and thoughtful, and her brown hair was cut short and functional. She wore a dark green t-shirt with the words ST. AUGUSTINE ACADEMY emblazoned in gold and black. Underneath, in a smaller print was ELMHURST, PA.
Metzger knew the town. It was a tiny point on the map outside of Scranton, not much larger than Van Cleef, in fact. There was a main street with a few stores, a diner, a church, and not much else. But it did boast St. Augustine’s, a Catholic prep school of some repute. Metzger decided to try breaking the ice.
“Hey, you’re from Scranton? Me too. Grew up in Carbondale.”
A wary, uncertain look crossed Hopko’s features before she spoke. “No kidding?”
“Yeah. I’ve got a cousin who went to St. Augustine’s. Carson Lang. You know him?”
Hopko paused for a moment in silence. “Yes. I think he was a year or two ahead of me. Captain of the varsity rugby squad.”
“That’s right. They made state champs Carson’s senior year.”
“I played lacrosse,” said Hopko.
Metzger nodded. “St. Gus is a good school. I passed the entrance exams, but we couldn’t afford the tuition.”
Hopko shifted uncomfortably. “My uncle helped out.”
Suddenly, Metzger understood. Her uncle is Congressman Hopko? Bill Hopko was a long-serving representative from eastern Pennsylvania and a ranking member of the House Permanent Select Committee on Intelligence. Wow. She’s got serious connections.
Metzger decided to let the subject drop for now. “Well, anyway, it’s nice to meet you, Hopko. Van Cleef sure feels like it's a world away from Scranton, huh?”
“You have no idea,” said Hopko.
Metzger frowned, but kept her mouth shut. She grabbed a towel and began to pack up her things. Honestly, she felt like going a few more rounds with the punching bag, but she got the sense that Airman Hopko really would prefer to be alone.
After a quick shower, Metzger left the barracks to get some fresh air. The morning was cool and damp from last night’s rain and the sun was still obscured by low clouds, gray as slate, foreboding more unpleasant weather to come. Something about the clouds was eerie. There was simply no other way to describe it. The darkest patch was out over the badlands, away by the Medicine Wheel.
I’d bet hard cash the Blue Shirts’ radar thing will light up like a Christmas tree today.
The lowering clouds fascinated Metzger. She found herself staring listlessly at their swirling motions, her mind preoccupied again with all the general strangeness of Field Station Delta and its personnel. Metzger wasn’t surprised that she felt like an outsider—after all, she had only just arrived yesterday. But everyone she’d met, Air Force and Blue Shirts alike, seemed to give off the vibe that something wasn’t right about this place—the knowing glances, the guarded hints dropped among casual conversations, the evasive answers to straightforward questions. Even for a special forces field station, the paranoid atmosphere of secrecy seemed excessive.
What on earth has Cartwright dropped me into?
Metzger was beginning to regret ever letting the mysterious government scientist recruit her for this posting. In the distance, blue electric flashes danced and flickered for an instant amidst the gloom and then disappeared. She shivered, remembering the blue orbs and the shadow creatures she had seen last night.
Release them—The words of the shadow creatures brushed against the edges of Metzger’s memory. She shivered.
What could “release them” mean? Metzger felt sure that whatever the answer was, it held the key to unlocking the mystery of Medicine Wheel Ranch.
I loved this new chapter. Really creepy and tense. The plot starts to thicken. And now I have to wait a whole other week to discover what happens next 😅
This one was so good. Amazing tension!