>THE SAFEHOUSE >BLACKRIVER COUNTY, WEST VIRGINIA >0800HRS.../// “So, you killed his wife?” Donnelley could see the confusion on Foster’s face. He hardly believed it either, but what happened happened. Truth be told, with all the crazy shit Donnelley and Foster had been through together, Donnelley was more surprised at Foster’s confusion than what they’d shot to death at the Cabin. “His wife, who died years ago?” “Yeah.” Donnelley shrugged, they sat across from each other in the garage at Foster’s desk, “His wife was choking Laine. Me and Laurie filled Marlene- his wife- with lead and we went on our way securing the scene and disposing of anything incriminating for the Program, like his wife.” “Where’d he get that fucking knowledge? Did you find tomes, treatises on rituals?” Foster asked, grimacing and scratching at his scalp. “Just whatever he had in that Green Box in his cabin.” Donnelley shook his head, taking a drag from his cigarette, “We should get this over with. They’ve been up my ass all night about finding out why a Park Ranger, a couple of FBI, a DIA spook and some other poor fools got roped into an operation by a couple of OGA spooks.” Foster sighed, rubbing at his jaw. He shrugged and nodded, “Alright. You want to break it to them? You’re the one that’s been around them most.” Foster frowned, “They might take it better from you.” Donnelley shook his head, a little smirk tugging up the corners of his lips, “All these years together and you’re throwing me to the piranhas.” “Just this once. We can only play spooky, mysterious men in black for so long before they just get pissed off.” Foster chuckled, the office chair he was in creaking as he leaned back and folded his arms. “Like you and Peake.” “Let’s not bring that asshole up.” Donnelley said, the knowing smirk on his lips opposite the daggers in his eye. He got up from his chair and stretched, his shoulder popping from the effort, before heading for the door. “Since this isn’t something agents hear often for all the things we do,” Foster called after him, “Thank you.” Donnelley showed his gratitude by erecting his middle finger over his shoulder just before he closed the door behind him. He trusted Foster could feel his shit-eating grin if he couldn’t see it. >.../// “You know,” Donnelley said as he strolled into the middle of them all in the living room, dressed in his usual ratty jeans, Vans, and a FEAR band tee. He liked to be the punk in the office, never mind he was never in one and hadn’t been for years. It was a quaint little space where they were mostly lounging in their own collective silence in the room, lit by the windows shining in rays where dust danced and drifted. A silence he interrupted with his feet creaking the floorboards, the jingle of bottles and his talk, “I got these and didn’t stop to think if I should.” He shrugged, setting down the big case of Modelo bottles in their cardboard box and a bundle of cigars. “But I did. So now, I’m going to have to somehow justify this expense.” Donnelley put his hands on his hips, sucked his teeth as if he was foisting a great burden unto them, “Who’s going to help me? We’ve got a little time to kill before we start talking business again.” Justin sat there on the couch, expression deadpan as he ran a hand across his stubbles. He was still sour to all of it. What the fuck was that thing? More importantly, to him, what the fuck had happened to that bear? He’d snapped a low-res picture on his burner, and gave it a few looks. But now he debated whether to even bring it up. Who the fuck was this Donnelley guy? And that spook who shadowed him. He eyed the case of Modelo and the bundle of tobacco. “Fuck it, pass me one.” Justin muttered. Rolling the bottle in his hand, he pulled his Gerber from his pocket. The cap came off with a hiss, the beer foaming. Dr Laine emerged from the bathroom, towel drying her hair and looked over the gathered group in the living room. The bruises were vivid on her throat and wrist where Marlene had grabbed her. She padded into the room, dressed comfortably in socks and black leggings, an oversized Joy Division t-shirt hanging to her hips. “I’ll take one of those,” she said, then glanced at Donnelley but changed her mind about mentioning his flask. Taking a bottle, Laine flopped into the corner of the couch, tucking one leg under her body. She held the bottle of beer out to Justin, “Do you mind opening it for me?” “Yeah, sure.” Justin took it, popping the cap with his multitool, offering it back. “There ya’ go.” She took it back, taking a sip and looked him over, scrutinizing his poker face and said, “Thanks.” Laine pushed her glasses up, looking over the soldier. “You almost missed the party in the shed. What a shit show.” Jason grunted a hum in response, his gaze was, as it had been for the majority of his skulking in the livingroom, locked to the floorboards. It was an interesting way to describe the event, but a shitshow it was not. Shocking, unreal, but otherwise under control. [i]So says the guy not getting choked by a dead body[/i], he thought. [i]Fucking adderall[/i]. It was making him overthink everything, but he didn’t want to sleep and took it as soon as the team returned. Something, anything could be beyond the edge of unconsciousness. Mrs. Baughman’s revenge, perhaps, or any other unexplainable ‘thing’ waiting to unsettle their idea of what was real and not. Jason stood from his seat on one of the couches and grabbed a beer, already halfway through it by the time he sat back down. The scene came back to Laine and she grimaced but it was hard to think of anything else. She chugged her beer, throwing back her head and nearly finishing it all. Laine held her hand over her mouth, stifling a burp then shook the empty bottle. “Excuse me,” she said, “It’s been awhile.” Justin did seem a little shook up despite his best attempt at keeping a stony exterior. “So, you good? After- all that, I mean.” He eyed Laine up and down, bringing the bottle to his lips. He was a lot more paced with his consumption. She stayed quiet a moment before bouncing up to fetch another beer, holding it out for him to open, “Good? No, I think that’ll take some time but at least I am no longer shaking in my shoes.” Laine rocked on her stocking feet and raised a brow, “So to speak.” Once he opened it, she retreated to her corner of the couch, drawing a knee up and tucking her other leg underneath. “It’s been awhile since I’ve had guns fired around me and I have to say the first time I’ve been choked by a corpse. All the other corpses I’ve inspected knew how to stay dead.” Despite her dark humor, there was still a little tremble in her voice at the end and her eyes flashed behind her glasses, glancing at the faces of the team. Her gaze was drawn to Donnelley and she noted the shirt he wore, “A bold choice.” He lit the cigar between his lips before he took a swig from his bottle, looking back at Laine, “I like being bold.” He smirked, “You’re doing a lot better than what I expect out of most. I’ll drink to that.” He raised his bottle and did just that, draining about as much as Laine did, wiping his mouth off in his forearm and he too stifled a burp. He took a breath, took a couple puffs, and shook his head. “To a mission well done.” He said, though something more was at the corners of his smile, weighing them down. “I fucking hate cigars.” He held his out and looked at it as if it had wronged him some way, putting it down and instead trading its place with a cigarette. As he fished for his lighter, he looked at Laine, “Joy Division, Exploited, clove cigarettes, lots of black,” Donnelley finally found the lighter and touched the tip of his cigarette to its flame, “I’m beginning to think we have something in common, Doctor.” And then there was something behind his smirk, something deeper, “And it’s not just the black slabs.” His eyes flashed to Laine and then to the neck of his bottle, which he upturned for another swig. Laine mirrored his half smile then tipped the beer bottle towards him. She did not bother with the cigars, instead lifting her t-shirt to take out the pack of Djarums that was tucked into her waistband and shook one free, slipping it between two fingers. “And I thought I was the profiler, Mr. Donnelley. I believe you’re right, maybe a little too right if you like Fear. We’ll have to trade mix tapes sometime.” Her smile flashed briefly at the subtle joke and she leaned back into the couch corner, bracing her elbow on the plush arm. She took out her lighter from the half empty pack of cloves and lit her cigarette, the crackling audible in the quiet room as she took a drag. Her gaze never left him, studying his expression and when he mentioned the black slabs, she clicked the zippo shut. “Sometime.” Donnelley flashed a smile to her before turning over to the others, “How’re the rest of the gang doing?” “Peachy,” Jason said, gulping down some beer and raising the bottle. “After a few more of these and a warm and fuzzy talk.” “Warm and fuzzy?” Donnelley chuckled, “I can try, no promises. Tom washed up quickly when they returned to the safehouse. He chose to change his clothing like many of the others. Shortly after entering the room, Donnelley showed up with a case of Modellos and a box of cigars. They weren’t Cubans and the beers weren’t Sam Adams, but he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Tom was wearing a pair of jeans, white running shoes and a black AC/DC Tee shirt, the one with the band’s name in bold red letters and lightning bolt. He was still more into classic rock than the stuff that had come out in the past ten years. He topped his outfit off with his usual Boston Red Sox baseball cap. The next to come forth was the Park Ranger, the man opting to go for a walk in the woods to do a bit of exploring and head clearing. Laurie knew he probably didn't earn himself many points with the company despite - what he considered - outstanding performance. He muttered to himself holding little internal dialogues, frustrations building up before being released – but only partially. He stepped back inside, wiping his shoes and taking off his baseball cap. From what he heard on the way in and a quick scan of the room it seemed Donnelly was giving everybody the Q and A of what the fuck happened. Laurie was fairly interested, but frankly he knew the inquisitiveness of the rest of the party was largely born out of rationalizing the fright and shock of the zombie lady, a fright and shock he hadn't felt. Most surprising to him was Donnelly. Seen shit had he? Then shouldn't he be desensitized by now? It all didn't really make sense. For now he grabbed a cigar and a beer he opened with his teeth before leaning against a wall. He rummaged in his stuff to find his Tetris toy, turning it on to play. There was something special to him about the quick and orderly mathematics and geometry of the thing juxtaposed to the little sounds of electrified orchestral music and pretty colours that soothed him much more than whatever answers Donnelly might give. It's not like the motley crew would be getting any Truth with a capital T. “Thanks, Mr. Donnelley,” Tom muttered as he grabbed a beer and a cigar. He used the bottle opener on his leatherman to open the bottle and bit the tip off the cigar. After pulling the lighter from his pocket, he lit the cigar enjoying its flavor. It wasn’t Cubano, but had a decent flavor he could appreciate. He still couldn’t get the image of that [i]thing[/i] choking Dr. Laine at the cabin in the woods out of his head or the dead bear. He couldn’t explain it and was hoping the CIA analyst could give them some insight. He figured the smell of death and shit permeating the air in the woods was another sense he wouldn’t quickly forget. It was all a nightmare. “So, Mr. Donnelley, are you going to explain what this is all about? What was that thing out at the cabin?” Serena had been in her and Laine’s room since they had returned. She was shuffling through the events that had unfolded, trying to make a mental index of what had transpired. She stood in front of her bunk with her head buried in the top mat. [i]Internal screams.[/i] She ran her hands through her hair, still pulled taut into a ponytail, as if to cleanse her mind. The clanking of bottles was enough to cause her to stir. She paced for a second with one hand on her forehead and the other on her waist. She then changed into a comfortable pair of sweats and an undershirt. She then entered into the living room with the rest of them, who had already taken to conversation. She slightly nodded to everyone and then to Donnelley. “Hit me..” she said, “I’ve been looking for one of those since I landed.” “And now,” Donnelley leaned forward and grabbed up a bottle by the neck, tossing it Serena’s way, “You found some.” Donnelley watched her snatch it out of the air and he gave her a smile, “You gonna be like Tom over there and beat me in the head with questions?” The bottle landed in her palm with a thwack. “Bout goddamned time.” she walked over to the dining table and then nestled the cap against the edge giving it a good whack to liberate the top which went flying to some unknown location on the floor, jingling several times as it landed. “You mean besides the collective [i]What the fuck just happened bit?[/i] Nope, not likely. I’m way too fucking tired, and at this point, borderline delusional.” she said taking a long pull from her bottle in an attempt to drown out the thought of [i]flesh eating midgets[/i] and [i]rotten septic tank hookers[/i]. “All I got right now is ears [i]Boss[/i]. That, and a very strong will to drink.” she said in a snarky fashion while moving to the couch, flopping down on the other arm opposite of the [i]Doc[/i]. “Anyone got a regular smoke? [i]No offense Doc[/i].” Serena inquired to the group, taking another long pull from the bottle. Laine took a drag from the black cigarette, the sweet smell of cloves and tobacco mingling as it crickled in the glowing embers. "None taken, [I]Officer[/I]," she replied, then blew out smoke in a thin stream between her lips. Tom killed the first bottle and dropped it back into the box pulling out a second. He took a long drag on the cigar before opening the second. “Well, I’m about as patriotic as they come, Mr. Donnelley, as an American, I am nothing but curious. I’d like to know if what we saw at that cabin in the woods was anything like what I saw in Northern Afghanistan ten years ago. Curiosity has me by the short hairs boss and I’d appreciate some answers,” Tom spat out. “Unless of course, you have no idea either?” Tom didn’t believe that. He took a long pull on the bottle, half finishing it before taking a breath. Then another drag on the cigar. “Anybody ever tell you you’re goddamn persistent?” Donnelley chuckled, polishing off his bottle of beer and setting it aside for a new one. He nodded to Serena, “Here.” His pack of cigarettes landed on the couch right next to her, his lighter following. Donnelley turned back to Tom, “Anybody ever tell you if you work hard you gotta play hard too unless you end up like Baughman?” Donnelley’s beer hissed open, “Taliban couldn’t kill me, my own heart ain’t. I ain’t talking business yet, Mister Stewart, not while the beer’s still there.” “Let me help you with that,” Jason said, getting up, pounding a beer back, and grabbing a third for the couch. “You’re pretty quiet over there,” Donnelley called over to Laurie, smirking, “That was some damn good shooting back there, Ranger Mathieu. Nerves of steel.” Laurie looked up from his game, pausing it and tapping his forelock with middle and index finger in a casual salute. “First shot was yours, boss, and so’s the glory.” He said, taking a sip of his beer. “At least, that’s how it is hunting. But I don’t think that one had any good bits to take for a trophy, eh?” Serena grabbed the pack of smokes from the couch and held it up slightly as a generally sign of gratitude at Donnelley and then pulled two out of the pack. She slid one behind her ear and lit the other, taking a long drag and then exhaled. She would only smoke when she drank alcohol or was extremely stressed out, and this occasion called for both. She listened to Tom’s inquiries as she polished off the bottle of beer, rolling the empty between her fingers in contemplation, a physical portrayal of what was going on in her mind. Thoughts and questions swirling about aimlessly and void of any fulfillment in the way of answers. She leaned forward and looked down to the floorboards of the cabin taking another pull from the cigarette and exhaled producing a slender slow plume of smoke. She stood and made her way back over to the beers and to return Donnelley’s pack and lighter. Her bare feet falling softly on the worn boards below. “That was definitely some fucked up shit back there, but I’m not nearly inebriated enough for answers just yet.” she said, laying Donnelley’s pack and lighter on the table next to the case of beer. She retrieved another and opened it on the table once more. She usually had better manners than that but the table had seen better days anyway. She took a swig and made her way back to a set of double windows behind the couch, gazing over the yard. She was antsy about the situation but also didn’t want to take it in just yet, at least not until the alcohol could numb her mind a bit, but it was slowly taking affect. Dr Laine tapped her ashes carefully into the empty bottle snugged in the crook of her leg and took another drink, listening and watching. There was a tension running through the cabin that no beer or chit chat would relieve, the huge zombie elephant in the room. None of them would leave without an explanation, something to make sense of the unsensible. There had to be something, anything. [i]A virus, a fungus, a god among us,[/i] her thoughts flickered merrily in a sing song pattern and she covered up the urge to laugh, to relieve the building uneasiness in her chest. Laine finished the second beer, feeling the warmth of the pleasant buzz starting to take hold. When Jason stood up, her green eyes followed his movements and then held a hand out, “I’ll take another, I’m not driving tonight.” Jason hooked his finger around the neck of another bottle and extended it Laine’s way on he moved back to the couch, his eyes dark as they explored her. “My guess is we’re all deep sea fish and we’ll need someone to get a refill.” He plopped on the couch near Serena, his large frame shifting the furniture. “If I was in Amman still it would be hashish time.” He took a swig of beer. “Could run in town soon. Can I ask you a weird question, Dr. Laine? Was she strong?” Jason asked. “Good thing I didn’t invite any of the DEA boys.” Joseph muttered into his bottle before finishing it off. She reached for the bottle, and gave him a nod as thanks. Laine’s attention piqued when Jason mentioned hashish but the line of thought vanished once he asked her about the strength of dead Mrs. Baughman. She took a drag on her clove cigarette, the embers crackling towards her lips and then tugged down the collar of her t-shirt for him to get a full view of the purpling finger marks. “I’ve been strangled before but not to the point of thinking it would kill me,” she said, letting the shirt pop back into place, her mouth quirking in a brief half smile that faded quickly. “To answer you, yes, she was very strong. Stronger than a woman her size, and her amount of decay would lead you to believe.” Her eyes met his and she glanced away, reminded suddenly at the memory of Marlene’s dead gaze. Some force had propelled the corpse into animation. What she knew of biology did not answer this and no answer would ever come from an autopsy now. Something had flickered there but perhaps it had just been maggots. Nothing else had swirled in those vacant orbs. "That's what I was thinking," Jason said. "Too strong for a body in that state." He regarded her clove cigarette and filled the idle pause with a swig of beer. What had she meant by being strangled before? "You seem to be taking it well, though. Better than Laurie over there. He's so shocked he forgot she was a person." It was a teasing notion more than a jab, but Jason didn't use a non-verbal to let them know either way. In fact he was muted, toned down. Expectant. “Trauma reveals itself in different ways,” the psychologist replied, peering at Jason over the rim of her glasses as she leaned forward. “I know what to expect from myself and others, it takes some people longer to absorb and I don’t think any of us is unaffected by what happened.” Laine glanced in Laurie’s direction then finished her beer, ready to start on the third given to her. She held it out in the general direction of Justin or Jason, whoever would have their bottle openers handy at the moment. “Then there is the good old scab of dark humor.” The Park Ranger was largely focused on his game, but he was aware of the situation having long since developed an ear independent in its attention from his eyes. He gave an audible chuckle at the references to him, winking at Jason. "Yeah, it happens to someone not paid to killed people in the past. And as the wise Doctor says some folks deal with it by humour. Of course that requires someone to actually have a sense of it, removing that as what she'd call a coping mechanism for [i]some people.[/i]." “A body in that state should be fucking buried already.” Serena said, as she took another drink. She stood there for a moment staring out the pane into oblivion. Her nerves were appreciative of both the nicotine kick and the alcohol. She turned from the window and took a long pull off her cigarette before grabbing Laine’s bottle as she realized that she needed some assistance. She made her way back over to the table. “I’m about due for another one too.” she said, grabbing another beer from the case. She then popped them both open and made her way back to the sofa handing it back, before taking a seat on the armrest. Donnelley finished his cigarette, puffing it down to the filter before stuffing it into the neck of his empty bottle. He looked around the room. Nobody was set on rousing cheers or happy bonding. In their defense, he wasn’t either. He could feel the tension in the room in all their downturned and vacant eyes. The reckoning should be soon, so to speak. The answers. Almost as if summoned by a bell, Foster came out of the garage, closing the door with a delicate [i]snikt[/i]. Foster and Donnelley caught each other’s eye, nodding to the other. Foster stood with his arms crossed behind Donnelley. He knew he was because he could feel Foster’s eyes boring holes in the back of his head, wondering if he was going to fuck this up. Donnelley hated giving speeches or anything of the sort. A man of action, they’d called him. Didn’t even like giving briefings. Yet, here they were. “Bring it in.” Foster raised his voice. Donnelley sniffled, placing a cigarette between his lips, “By now, you’re all wondering just what the fuck you’re all doing out here committing felonies.” Donnelley looked each and every one of his team in the eye, the Texan in his voice running rampant, “Your code of honor, your sense of right and wrong, your law enforcement mentality is screaming at you.” “When I was a Sheriff Deputy in a small Texas town filled with junkies, tweakers, whores, and scum, I wished sometimes I could do something more. Wished I wasn’t burdened by a law saying that just because I never saw Jimmy’s mother over in the next county serving pussy for ice, it never happened.” Donnelley took another drag, clucking his tongue, “Now, I do whatever the fuck I want if it means furthering the greater good. Everything is my jurisdiction.” He pointed in whatever vague direction he needed to point, but he knew they’d get his, “Over there is Clyde Baughman’s cabin. Some of us saw more than was absolutely necessary. At one point, I may have had the choice of picking who would stay and who would never hear of us again and be given a big fucking sum of money and a real fucking clear warning to never talk about what happened.” “Now that we all just watched some of us shoot and kill Clyde Baughman’s wife, who died way back in nineteen-forgotten, I figure you’re all just real keen on getting the real answers.” Donnelley shrugged, “So, you will.” “In 1928, a little town of Innsmouth was raided by the Bureau of Investigation and elements of the Navy. What they found there would forever change our view of the world and our universe and how it worked. How the pieces fit.” Another pause, another sweeping gaze, “From then on, there was always a much-needed secret compartment of people in the government willing to go above and beyond to secure not only the safety of the American people, but often the entire world.” “The Security Studies Group, Silver See. Petrel Hill, Yellow Combine, Threshold Curve.” Donnelley counted down the names on his fingers, “We change our name every so often so we can remain in the shadows doing what we do best. Saving this little green ball of shit, and we’ve been doing it thanklessly, behind the scenes for years. Pretty good at it by now, you ask me.” “From World War Two to now. I told some of you that the war we fight is the only war that matters. Against what enemy? Against whoever cooked up whatever evil that was that let Clyde Baughman’s wife wake up from death.” Donnelley crossed his arms, “Don’t play dumb. I know everything about your files. I know you’ve all seen shit that really challenges you. Mine was Pakistan in 2008. Again in Somalia, and then Chechnya.” “We’re fighting an enemy whose weapon is knowledge of them. Things the world doesn’t believe exists outside of horror movies. Things that make Clyde Baughman’s wife waking up from death look tame.” Donnelley said. His voice grew quieter, “We’re the only ones fighting a war for each and every sunrise our children and our wives and lovers, our family back home gets to see. They will never get to thank us for it because they will never know, and they never should have to.” “But you and I know. And that’s enough.” He said, nodding, “I fought with honor for my country. I work for the Agency doing the dirty work that nobody thanks me for because they’ll never know. You all uphold the laws of the United States.” “But us as a team? Everyone in this room, working in the capacity that we are at this very moment and have been?” Donnelley spoke, “We’re The Program. We’re Delta Green. We’re the black helicopter. We are the government conspiracy. And our work is too important for the average Joe to know about. Too important to be hindered even by the Constitution itself if it really gets dirty. We’re at war, ladies and gentlemen. With an enemy with no other goal than to kill or subjugate. A holy war. A war for survival in a universe with no sympathy. We do the horrific to stop the apocalyptic. We travel light, we probe deep, and we strike goddamn hard.” “I don’t have to remind you that when anybody asks what you do for The Program, you can kindly tell them to fuck off, or ‘it’s classified.’ Welcome to [url=https://youtu.be/VvKjpGP6P5Y]Working Group UMBRA[/url].” Donnelley said, watching the flame kiss the end of his cigarette and then expelling the smoke through his nose as he looked all of them in the eye one last time. “Dismissed.”