The rise of the military-industrial complex has led humankind to create an incalculable number of horrific inventions in the name of safeguarding countries. Like a creeping fog, the fear of such scientific discoveries hangs closely over our Cold War-era history. What if one of these discoveries, at first wondrous and then deadly, came back to haunt us? Scott Carson’s deft and suspenseful Departure 37 explores how the past can terrorize us far into the future.
On Oct. 25, 2025, a nationwide ground stop of all aircraft halts commuter flights from the Atlantic to the Pacific. The reason? Every pilot scheduled to fly received an ominous phone call from their mother warning them to stay on the ground. The trouble is, some of those mothers are dead. In a small community in Maine, teenager Charlie and her friends watch as a silver balloon floats over a defunct-airfield. Even as the military and intelligence agencies scramble to address the ground stop and the strange phone calls, Charlie and her friends are about to get a front-row seat to something extraordinary.
Decades earlier in 1962, Marty Hazelton, a physicist in Indiana, makes a thrilling discovery, but one he barely understands. As tensions between Russia and the U.S. rise, he must decide who to trust as he seeks answers that could change the world forever.
Carson is a master of building tension patiently, letting it simmer as more and more of Charlie’s and Marty’s stories unfold. The split perspective works well, with each storyline revealing small details and raised stakes that the other perspective addresses or responds to. It’s rare to have two narratives intertwined so enjoyably. Though billed as horror, Departure 37 leans more toward suspense, mystery and thriller through much of its 400 pages. That’s no problem in my book; the pacing, science-magic and two timelines kept me flipping pages far past bedtime.
What mysteries from the age of nuclear destruction lie undiscovered to this day? It’s a frightening thought, the idea that we don’t yet know the extent of our own scientific ambition. If Departure 37 is any guide, such a moment might come on a clear day, upending everything, crash-landing where we least expect it.