Shane bangs on the brick wall in the doorway, shouting insanity.

Buckley crouches in the corner of the damp room, trying and retrying to reach someone over the radio.

Liza stares at me, her fingernails digging into my biceps as she squeezes my arms.

What do we do? she cries.

I look around, shifting my gaze between the three members of my team. Confusion is paramount

in my mind, and it's trying its very best to stoke my panic. The room we've been working

in for weeks has suddenly changed, and I can come up with no logical explanation for it.

Science is based on repeated, controllable actions, and the consequent events. And for 80 years,

there have been no recorded anomalous events in this part of the manner. I guess 80 years

isn't long enough to come to a conclusion. Taking a deep breath in through my nose, I look back

down at Liza. Let go of me, I tell her in a soft, calm voice.

Her eyes are bouncing around the room, like a child's rubber ball in a room full of antiques.

Liza, I say, a little more forcefully, but still calm.

Let go of me. Pull yourself together.

Her eyes stop careening around the room and start focusing

on me. They lose some of their manic quality, and she lets go of my arms. Her short, dark hair

falls from behind her ears as she looks down at her pale hands, as if she wasn't aware of what

they were doing. Hey, Shane! I call.

Knock it off, man.

Come over here.

I say it like he's being completely unreasonable, even if he's not.

He turns, looking over his shoulder at me.

...