>THE SAFEHOUSE
>BLACKRIVER COUNTY, WV
>2019.JUL.6
>0330

The room was a little more breezy now that there was a fair few extra holes shot through it. Moonlight speared in through some, and the window in the room offered enough light to see Foster and the bastard they’d caught crawling away. Jason did what he needed for the bleeding and the pain for the stranger. Funny that, taking away a man’s pain only to give it back later when he needed. “When do you think he’ll wake up?”

“Don’t know.” Donnelley shook his head, folding his arms tighter as he turned to Foster, “You still never answered me.”

Foster nodded, sighing and shaking his head, “I’m a goddamn Operations Officer, Donnelley. I recruit assets, I don’t raid bomb factories in Iraq, I find people who know and then tell you where the factories are.”

“I get the goddamn difference, Foster, but when people are shootin’ at you do you not think you should shoot the fuck back?” Donnelley hissed. “Or do you just tell me to shoot for you?”

Foster shrugged, which only made Donnelley more angry to be looking at Foster’s smug fucking face. The only man even more self-righteous and smug than himself. Donnelley shook his head, pointing at the door, “Out. Let me get to work. Wouldn’t want your hands to get too dirty.”

Foster only turned and closed the door behind him. Donnelley rummaged around in his suit coat pocket and pulled free his flask, taking a long pull from it and growling as he capped it back up. “Can I get some of that?” Donnelley almost flinched, but the bag over the man’s head obscured his eyes from it.

“You’ll get more than you’d like soon, boy.” Donnelley said as he followed Foster out of his room to step into the living room, dirty and covered in brass as it was now.

He looked at the faces of Working Group UMBRA, taking a bit of time to pay special attention to each one, his blue gaze falling on each. He drew in a breath and let it all out, “We’re pretty fuckin’ compromised if anybody didn’t know. We got a wounded here and some changes to make. Charleston is our best bet to find safe haven.” He frowned, “What say y’all, my beloved fellowship?”

Ava blinked her eyes as Donnelley’s voice registered through the comfortable fog settled over her mind and turned her head to look at him from where she was laid out on the couch on top of a bedsheet they’d repurposed into a makeshift stretcher. She’d gotten changed into a set of non-bloody clothes at her insistence. She didn’t want to continue to smell the dried blood or feel the scratchiness of the blood stained cloth on her body. So now she was dressed in a soft pale orange t-shirt and a pair of grey sweatpants, to keep pressure off her side and to be more comfortable.

The fentanyl lollipop had long been taken away from her when the raspberry flavor started to make her want to puke, but the opiates were still in her system and numbing the pain of her side. Her head felt like it was stuffed with cotton and wool and her thoughts were coming to her at a crawl which normally would bother the Hell out of her, but right now she didn’t mind the feeling. She knew what was going on though...Vaguely.

“You have my bow.” Ava muttered dazedly, lifting up a hand and then letting it flop back down on her chest.

“If Charleston’s our best bet, then let’s go,” Dave shrugged. He stood behind the couch, leaning against the back with his rifle in arm’s reach. He jerked his head towards the garage door. “I ain’t gonna be able to set up a lab in some rat-hole motel, but I rigged up a couple of little pipe-bombs that we might be able to use for somethin’.” 

Laine nodded, already knowing that was their destination then grinned at Ava's slurred oath, the pain meds were definitely working. 

"I'm going to get cleaned up, then pack my things. We need to take the books and projector, I'm going to be in trouble if I don't get that returned soon," Laine said, then glanced at Donnelley, meeting his eyes and said in a firm voice, "I'll be joining you in a few minutes to speak with our guest."

“Please do.” Donnelley nodded, turned to Dave, “You too, BLACKBEARD, learn how UMBRA does things.” He smirked.

“Already planned on it,” Dave growled. He narrowed his eyes, returning Donnelley’s nod. 

Pari had remained quiet, standing in the corner closest to Ava with her arms folded. Her gaze flitted between Donnelley and Dave. It wasn’t her place to make comment on the assailant they’d captured, but her thoughts were on him too, she had so many questions - and this was only the first day of her work with UMBRA. She just breathed a weary sigh, lowering her head to look down at the floor while she waited for the meeting to be over. She hadn’t much to pack, on account of the fact that she hadn’t yet unpacked, so she set her mind to making herself as useful as possible and attaining a maximum efficiency of the time available. 

Pari turned to face the direction of the kitchen -- she’d pack what she could, and what was suitable from the supplies they had there. Everyone would need a snack at some point, but it might not be crossing their minds. There were linens she could bag up also, an extra blanket here and there for the motel wouldn’t go amiss. Then there was Ava, her eyes tracked the room until they fell back on the young woman, someone would need to assist her with her things too. Pari could make herself useful in that endeavour.

“As for everyone else…” Donnelley shrugged, “Get to packin’ your shit. Bare essentials, I’m leavin’ your ass in the dust if you take too long.”

He looked over his battle weary team once more, “Dismissed.”

[hr]

Donnelley opened the door with his music blaring out of the phone. He didn’t necessarily care if he woke their subject up, that was the point. He watched the other man tied to the chair wriggle, sack over his head move with his quickening breath. He loved these moments. First impressions were everything and Donnelley was a man who loved good ones. He dropped his bag of tools on the floor, the duffel clanking heavily on the floorboards, making their friend in the chair jump.

“Fuck you!” It was a powerful set of words, sure, but the distress was apparent in his quivering tone.

Donnelley laughed, looking over at Laine and Dave as he switched the music off on his phone. He kept the smile as he took a few steps toward their guest and leaned in close to the sack, just next to his ear. “Shut the fuck up!” Donnelley leaned away and crossed his arms, speaking in a tone that switched from angry torturer to hotel receptionist, “Speak when spoken to, please. Look, man, this is where you decide how nice I’m goin’ to be. We’re gonna ask you some questions, it’s your choice if you answer ‘em. Be nice to my associates.”

Laine stood near Dave as they watched Donnelley begin his work on the prisoner. She had freshened up and changed out of her coffee stained sweater to a sleek black shirt. Her bra was back on, it was time for business.

She watched with her arms crossed, keeping her expression neutral but she winced slightly at the duffel bag of tools. Laine's stomach knotted as she told herself it was mostly for show, to intimidate. Mostly. Donnelley was CIA and the stories of their interrogation methods were not as secret as they probably liked. 

Laine held up a recording device and pushed the buttons to start it, setting it on the side table. "This is Special Agent Heather Laine July 6th 2019 recording the interview with..."

She glanced at Donnelley and Dave then spoke their full names into the recorder. "Suspect being interviewed was caught after an assault with intent to murder National Park Ranger Frank Wilkins, a federal witness."

Laine stepped over to stand before the hooded prisoner. "Please state your full name for the record. And please understand that your cooperation will benefit you because you are in very deep trouble right now."

Dave cracked his knuckles, unintentionally punctuating Laine’s words. His shoulder was wrapped, courtesy of Pari’s ministrations. The agent had looked him over while he sat and talked with Ava, masking his anger behind soft words until Laine had come to tell him they had a prisoner. Then he’d given her hand a squeeze, gotten his hunting knife out of the garage, and joined Laine and Donnelley with their new companion. 

He had winced when Laine used his name. He didn’t like having his identity attached to what they were doing, especially in light of the current situation. But at this point here was nothing for it; he was already going to have to explain a bullet wound to Kaliah when he next picked up Mal, and that seemed scarier than anything the Feds could do for some reason. That was a worry for later, though. Right now all that mattered to him was beating a little justice into the scumbag tied to the chair.  

“MacCready?” The Subject chuckled, and then laughed heartily, “I heard of you!”

“That’s not what she asked.” Donnelley bent down for his bag and unzipped it, retrieving a pair of large rusty pliers and snapping the teeth together, “You’re not being very nice right now.”

“Fuck you, I ain’t even been read my [i]rights![/i]” The Subject snarled.

“Laine, please read this man his rights.” Donnelley asked, if looks could kill, the man would’ve been reduced to a black mark on the floor.

“What you heard, boy?” Dave growled, taking a step forward as his heart jumped in his chest. His hand went to his knife. “Gonna want to be real careful how you answer that.” 

“I heard y’all been into shit that ain’t any better’n what me and mine’re into.” The Subject chuckled, then cooed, “[i]Rights, please and thank you.[/i]”

Laine pressed her lips together, it was a charade of an interrogation, reading his rights with pliers snapping at him already. She recited the Miranda rights to him and once she was done she added, "And while you have the right to remain silent, I don't recommend it. Your best chance is to talk and speak the truth. Your boys left you behind, you don't owe them anything."

“What the fuck do you wanna ask me?” The Subject’s head turned dismissively away from Laine.

"Let's start with your name and where you're from, and who you were with tonight. Simple questions," Laine said, ignoring his gesture, her voice even and noticeably lacking the country twang of the men in the room. 

“I dunno.” The Subject shrugged, “My name’s Michael. Whoever put us up to this gave us a fake name, obviously, because who the fuck names their kid ‘Just Jay,’ right?”

The Subject’s chuckle guttered out into clearing his throat. Nobody here was in a laughing mood. Donnelley stepped back from the Subject to sit on the desk in the room, drumming his fingers over the particle-board.

“So you’re what, some hillbilly mercenary?” Dave snorted, shaking his head. “Guy just picked up you an’ your buddies at the local taproom?” 

“Yeah, sure. And you’re what? Some Brotherhood boy waitin’ for the Aryan Uprisin’, hoss?” The Subject laughed, “I’m from Tennessee, boy, and when we want to start some shit we don’t run to the hills and holler at the people below us that we’re gonna do somethin’. You and your fuckin’ [i]ilk[/i] need to get with it. Revolution ain’t gonna start itself.”

“So, that’s my name, where I’m from. That’s who hired me and the boys. Fuck else?” The Subject hissed, the sound of contempt in his words. “Is that what this is? Is that who y’all’re with? Buncha fuckin’ MacCready Brood musclin’ in on…” Donnelley got the feeling that Michael almost let something slip. He figured these boys weren’t the best at OpSec.

“On what?” Donnelley whispered, putting his hands on his knees as he bent down to ear-level, “Musclin’ in on what, Michael? What’s Just-Jay got down here in bumfuck West Virginia to muscle in on?”

“Nothin’.” Michael muttered, trying to get his ear away from Donnelley, but the CIA officer chased it with a smirk.

He was loving where this was going, “Oh, okay. I was worried for a second, Michael. Turns out y’all were just shootin’ up a cabin full of folk for nothin’.”

“Cut the recorder.” Donnelley’s hand shot under the chair and he growled as he toppled Michael onto his back, and placed his hands on his bent knees again. Towering over Michael, “You’re all alone, boy! Answer the [i]goddamn[/i] questions!”

Donnelley roughly slapped his hands on Michael’s collar and hauled him back up onto the chair’s four legs. Donnelley lightly patted Michael’s cheek, the man flinching away as Donnelley cooed, “Please, Michael. I want to get to know you.” Donnelley grabbed Michael by the chin and back of his head, forcing him to look at Dave, “Recorder’s off, you want some of this?”

“Yup,” Dave grunted. He stalked towards the man, cocked back a fist, and fired a firm jab into the bag where he guessed the bridge of his nose was. 

“I ain’t my kin, boy,” he growled. “They’re up there hidin’ in them hills. I ain’t. I’m makin’ shit happen.” He hit him again on a whim, this time in the mouth. 

“You [i]Tennessee[/i] boys need more range time, though. Way I figure it, all you did was let us put points on the board. How many of y’all you figure we killed? An’ all of our shooters are still breathin’.” 

“You can’t hit me!” Michael cried out, “Miss, ma’am, you- they can’t do that! You read me my rights! I got rights, you fuckin’- Oof!”

“Bless your little heart, son.” Donnelley landed a good hook into Michael’s solar plexus and bent down again, cooing, “[i]All alone, boy.[/i]” He stood back up and hiked up his sleeves, watching Michael gasp desperately for air, “Now, I’m gonna put that recorder back on. You better answer them questions ‘fore this Texas boy here shows you somethin’ good.”

Laine watched from her corner, arms still crossed under her breasts and her full lips pressed together to keep herself from interrupting. When Michael called out to her, she merely looked at him with a pensive expression, tilting her head slightly as if watching some curious specimen under glass. Finally she spoke up, her tone even with a hint of sympathy she did not feel. 

“Michael, you’re not answering questions. If you don’t answer questions, then we have no use for you,” Laine said, taking a deep breath. “Do you understand? Please, do yourself a favor. Tell us more about Just Jay and what he is doing in Blackriver County. And what it has to do with silencing a park ranger who found a murdered girl.” 

“Jay told us he wanted Frank because important shit was happenin’ up in these here hills, okay?” Michael sniffled, more likely blood than snot, “He told us to come with him and make sure you folk knew not to fuck with us anymore.”

“Turned out well for you, you think? ‘Cause all I learned is you’re a thin-skinned bitch with a glass nose.” Donnelley chuckled, “How did Jay get you from Tennessee to West Virginia, how long you worked with Jay?”

“A while.” Michael said, Donnelley placed a hand on Michael’s shoulder and took up a fistful of his shirt, “A few months now! He picked us up in Tennessee, paid us a fuckin’ lot just to stand around and act tough. I’m pretty sure Jay’s with the Brotherhood, he cooks and sells. People he knows does, leastways.”

“Meth?” Donnelley growled, fist tightening.

“Uh huh, yeah.”

“What else?” Donnelley asked.

“Guns.” Michael whimpered.

“So he runs guns and drugs. You’re his muscle. I’m guessin’ his little hillbilly Ho Chi Minh Trail cuts through Blackriver. And I’m guessin’ if Frank opened up his mouth about murdered hikers it’d put some heat where he don’t need it.” Donnelley nodded at Laine and looked back at Michael, “Am I close?”

Michael only nodded. “Mhmm.”

“Who does he sell to?” Donnelley asked.

Michael whimpered again, a useless little bleating. He shook his head, letting it hang as he took in a shuddering, pitiful breath. “I don’t know…” he whimpered.

Laine moved forward, looking down at the hooded man. She lay a light hand on his shoulder and spoke in a gentle tone, sympathetic. “Michael, I think you do know, but you’re afraid to tell us aren’t you. Just Jay and his buyers, they are dangerous men.”

Her eyes flicked to Donnelley and she caressed Michael’s shoulder in a comforting gesture as Donnelley’s fell away, before removing her hand from him. “I know you’re scared, I can hear it. But these men here, they’re dangerous and you’re at their mercy right now. A few punches isn’t anything to a tough man from Tennessee but you know that’s just a warm up. I can help you, Michael, if you tell us what we need to know. I can keep them from hurting you.” 

“R-Russians.” Michael stammered.

Donnelley’s ears perked with his brow, looking at Dave and then Laine. “Don’t hear that every day.”

Dave frowned, chewing thoughtfully at the wad of dip he’d crammed into his lip while Donnelley and Laine were talking to Michael. 

“Fuck do [i]Russians[/i] want out in bumfuck West Virginia?” He grumbled. He shook his head. “If I got shot over some goddamn mob misunderstandin’, I’m gonna be even more pissed off.” 

He gnawed at his dip for a moment more, then pushed it aside with his tongue. “Look man, I’m gonna level with ya,” he said. “I ain’t what you’d call a [i]professional[/i] when it comes to this sorta thing. All I really know how to do is hurt ya. But this shit about Russians, it ain’t really helpin’ us. Least not with the bigger picture. What else you got in that head of yours? Why we got hikers turnin’ up skinned out like whitetail? An’ why is Jay so worried about it he’s willin’ to send you boys on a suicide mission against a house full of Feds?” 

He cracked his knuckles for emphasis. 

“I don’t fuckin’ know ‘bout no hikers, man! Jay just told us to come with him and shoot y’all dead!” Donnelley reached over with his pliers and snapped them shut around Michael’s nose, “Agh! Fuck!”

Donnelley let go, “You know I fuckin’ hate it when you say you don’t know somethin’. What [i]do you know?[/i]”

“I know Jay is runnin’ Guns and drugs to Russians! I don’t know who the fuck these guys are, but they talk about London a lot and they meet Jay in an old shed out in the middle of fuckin’ nowhere and… and…”

“And?” Donnelley spoke up, “And what?”

Michael shook his head, letting it drop as he choked back tears. Donnelley looked at Dave and then Laine. “Cut the recorder.”

“No! Look, that’s all I know, it’s Russians from London! Russians from London!” Donnelley forced out a laugh as he cocked back his elbow and let fly a strong cross to Michael’s jaw, snapping Michael’s head to the side. “Russians…” Michael slurred, his head lolling. “London.”

“So, these Russians, the meetin’s. What do you know about ‘em?” Donnelley asked. “Talk, Michael, or I’ll show you what else I have in my bag.”

“‘Lectrical burn… Ozone…” Michael whimpered. He let go a pitiful sound as Donnelley grabbed him by the back of his hair and yanked his head up.

“You just sayin’ bullshit or am I gonna have to keep goin’ on you, boy?” Donnelley spoke close to his ear.

Dave felt his stomach roll; the idea of beating on a defenseless man was sitting poorly. Still, he told himself it was necessary. BLACKBEARD had been wiped out, good men dead, and Donnelley’s team had lost two more. Ava was gutshot, he’d been hit...People were dying. Answers might stop the killing. 

“You can’t keep hittin’ him in the head like that,” Dave said. “He ain’t gonna be able to talk if you knock his brains out.” 

He put a stiff right into Michael’s belly, then another. 

“Work him lower down some,” he said, swallowing his own disgust. He punctuated it with a kidney-shot. 

“Please,” Michael wheezed out, “Please, please.”

“Alright.” Donnelley bent down in his bag again, retrieving a power drill with a thick bit in the end this time. He gave the trigger a quick squeeze and the whir was enough to have Michael yelping. “Electrical burn and ozone.” Donnelley frowned. He knew. This guy knew something, because the last time he smelled electrical burn and ozone in places they had no business being was Pakistan, Somalia, and Chechnya. “You sure they weren’t Chechens?”

“I don’t kn-...” Michael cut himself off like a little boy almost said something he wasn’t supposed to. “They were speakin’ Russian to each other, accents and stuff when they were talkin’ to Jay.”

"Names," Laine said, frowning at Donnelley when he got the drill.  "Names and places, unless you went blindfolded which I doubt then you have an idea how you got to these meetings in the middle of nowhere. And what about the smell, when and where did you smell it?"

Michael kicked uselessly at his restraints, struggling arms not gaining anything by wriggling against the zip ties that held his wrists to the arms of the chair, “I…” Michael sobbed, “I. Don’t. Know!”

Donnelley jabbed the drill bit against Michael’s hand, “You don’t know, or you don’t want to speak? Pleadin’ the Fifth is a thing in court, but this ain’t no courtroom, boy.” Donnelley spoke over Michael’s sobs, “What about the smell, give me somethin’, man!”

“It was always before they got there! We’d get there first and then it would start to smell! Something loud like thunder or some shit and they’d just fuckin’ walk out of the fuckin’ shed like they’d been there!” Michael stammered out, tongue working quick, “Billy, he’s another guy with our boys, he looked into the little shed one day and there wasn’t anyone in there and they walked out after the noise! I swear! I swear!”

Michael shook his head, “Its weird shit, but I swear! That’s how it happens!”

Donnelley lifted the drill and stepped back. It was true then. He’d seen it in Chechnya. Maybe that’s what was going on in Iraq, that’s how they’d get to those villages and then disappear. He looked at Laine and Dave, then back to Michael. He set the drill on the table and moved his hand to Michael’s shoulder, ignoring him flinching away from it to rest it there, “I believe you.” Donnelley said, voice solemn as ever, “I do. Thank you, Michael.”

“Is that it?” Michael whispered.

Laine ground her teeth as Donnelley put the drill to the man's hand but waited and said nothing when he did not need to use it. Her attention was taken by the stuttering story now spilling out. It was strange, nothing like she had heard before but  it made her scalp tingle at the description. 

Whatever Michael had told them would never be admissible after the beatings but it was information they could use. She spoke up, trying to ignore her nagging conscious, "Do you have any recollection of where these places are? Anything, roads, landmarks, what the house looked like?"

“Broke down. Real old. Jay… he said we… we were out near the mines. Some of the local guys said nobody came up to those parts anymore. Said some guy named Dulane blew up the mines.” Michael shook his head, “I don’t know anythin’ else, I swear.”

Dave frowned and looked over at Laine and Donnelley. 

“Them mines,” he said, his voice low. “That’s out near where my team was.”

Laine took a deep breath when the mines were mentioned, Dulane and the strange happenings that stretched back into history. The books she brought from the library still sitting on her bunk. 

She glanced at Donnelley, then at the hooded man in the chair. "Thank you, Michael. Your information might save lives."

“Do I get anythin’? Lighter sentence, somethin’?” Michael pleaded, “I told all I know, I don’t wanna get killed for tellin’ y’all. Please?”

Laine looked at Donnelley, tilting her head slightly towards the door  then said to Michael,, "We can work something out, the State Police will need to hear your testimony as well."

“Laine, Dave,” Donnelley interjected, “Outside, for a second.”

Donnelley turned for the door and placed a cigarette between his lips, casting a glance at the Team going about packing their things before he led Laine and Dave out to the front porch. Once they’d settled, Donnelley lighting his cigarette, he spoke, “Under what jurisdiction is this Workin’ Group operatin’ under?”

Dave shrugged at the question. His hand rested on the grip of his Sig, still worn on his thigh, and he played his eyes over the treeline before answering. 

“I dunno, never thought about it,” he said. “I’m just one of them...You know. [i]Independent contractors[/i]. I figured y’all would handle the particulars.” 

“Laine?” Donnelley did not look away from his cigarette.

Laine watched him light his cigarette and his question touched her nerve. She remembered what he said but it was a different thing to be faced with that fact. She stared at him, "No. You're not doing that, Donnelley. I stood by while you beat information out of that man because we're pressed for time but...no, something else. We can figure out something else."

“He’s a loose end,” Donnelley said through a cloud of smoke, “Before all of this, if I took him out of that chair and locked you two in a room, how do you think that’d go?”

“The Program does not prosecute. The Program eliminates very special threats to the United States and the only way we can do that is if we remain faceless. If we expose Michael’s story to the wrong people then people will know about the things they shouldn’t.” Donnelley shrugged, “You might be FBI, Justin might be a Ranger, Dave might be just some guy, I might be CIA. But right here, right now?”

“We are The Program. Whatever Michael knows, nobody else should.” Donnelley frowned a tad deeper.

Dave laughed bitterly, shaking his head and leaning against the wall. 

“You know, my whole life I grew up thinkin’ any minute the black helicopters were gonna come, an’ I was gonna get carried off to some black-site and tortured because I was a threat to the [i]system[/i].” He looked over at Donnelley. “Now I’ve got some guy in a back room with a nose that I broke, an’ I’m talkin’ about puttin’ him in a shallow grave out here in these hills.” 

He sniffed and crossed his arms, growing silent for a moment. 

“If killin’ this man will keep my boy safe, I’ll do it,” he said. “I’ll even pull the trigger. But Donnelley...If I find out there was some witness protection thing an’ you just thought this was easier, I’m gonna hold that against you.” He held the agent’s gaze. There was pain in his eyes, and a bone-deep weariness, but no fear. None at all. “You sure he’s gotta die?” 

Laine crossed her arms and looked at Donnelley, "I remember what you said. But I agree with Dave, are you sure that..."

She bit down on her lip and shook her head, then whispered harshly, "I catch killers, I don't fucking...stand by and..."

Her words caught and she closed her eyes, the reality was there, in plain sight. Michael would have killed them all for his paycheck and if they let him go he knew their names. And it was her damn fault for pretending the interrogation was anything close to legitimate and speaking their real names in front of the suspect. 

Laine rubbed her face with both hands, then shook her head, "So that's it? This is what we become."

Donnelley nodded, slow as slow. He felt sympathy for Laine. He knew he was like her once, an unflinching loyalty to the law and a trust that working through the law was the only way. His time in The Program, even just the CIA, made him privy to the fact that some laws only tie your hands. “So that no one else has to.” He whispered, holding her gaze.

He looked to Dave, “I’ll do it.” He said, knowing what it was like to cradle a child in hands that had clutched a rifle. That had clutched knives in places the public would never know about. Bottles too. Dave and his boy didn’t deserve that. He turned for the door, [url=https://open.spotify.com/track/41FUDbrnvoc7RH0APur9jy?si=xbnMFVQ1RI2ZH_js75ItZw]“I’ll do it.”[/url]

Dave looked over at Laine, then sighed heavily. He spat on the floor and then followed after Donnelley. He caught up with the man in the hallway. 

“It’s one team,” he muttered, falling into step beside him. “You watched my ass out there, an’ you don’t even know me. I’ll come with ya. Somebody gotta watch your back out in them trees.” 

Donnelley nodded, just once. But he held the man’s gaze all the same. Donnelley didn’t really know where Dave had come from, he was an enigma from the time he found the man huddled in a tumbledown cabin in the woods up until they were killing folks together. But there was the same kind of bond there he felt in the Ranger Batts, the Berets, even with Kingsley and Smitty in Iraq. “All of this. Not everybody understands.” Donnelley nodded at the door, “It stretches the morals. But everything we do out here keeps your boy safe.”

He turned and continued on his way, “My little girl too.”

Dave nodded. “Then let’s handle business.” 

[hr]

Laine remained on the porch, lighting one of her clove cigarettes with a trembling hand. She watched Donnelley then Dave go, leaving to commit a crime that was a necessity to their survival. More than a crime. It was murder. 

She stared off into the darkness, the glow of her cigarette the only light now on the porch. Hot unshed tears burned her tired eyes, guilt heavy in the pit of her stomach. For having to stand by but even moreso that she did not stand up. That she had been a damn fool and tried to walk a line between the law and the abyss, darkness that she fought against. But there was a deeper depth beyond the death of a piece of shit hired gun, as wrong as it was. There was a tortured dead girl, skinned and left. And she wasn't the only one. The greater evil still lurked in the hills. And to find it, she had to find a way to justify the means. 

Laine took a deep drag and sat down in the rocking chair, smoking and waiting for the sound. 

[hr]

Donnelley opened the door and closed it behind him and Dave. He didn’t say a word, just unholstered his handgun, rummaging in his things for the suppressor.

“Did y’all come to some sort of plan for me?” Michael asked, a tired and weary hope in his voice.

Donnelley finished with the task of screwing on the suppressor, he didn’t even glance at Dave as he turned for Michael. He sighted up.

“Sirs? Ma’am-“

Donnelley squeezed the trigger twice, felt the jolt of the pistol in his hand, put two .40s in his chest. Michael flinched and sagged to the left, his head bobbing as he tried to draw a wheezy breath, sounding like he was sucking in liquid. Donnelley squeezed once more, another jolt, another of the sharp pops cracking into his skull. The bag saved most of the gore but there was still a thick stream of it dripping out of Michael’s head. Donnelley lowered his FN and sighed. “Alright.” Donnelley unscrewed the suppressor, tossing it back onto his bag. “I need a drink.”

Dave forced himself to watch, locking his eyes on Michael with gritted teeth and fisted hands. He managed not to jump when the suppressed weapon barked, merely narrowing his eyes and fighting back a brief urge to vomit. He stood there for a while until the urge passed, keeping his gaze on the corpse of the man they’d tortured. Finally he nodded. 

“Yeah. Me too.” 

Donnelley holstered his .40. He shook his head, looking down at Michael’s lifeless body and remembering what his voice sounded like just before. Hope. And nothing now. He looked at Dave, “Arms or legs?”

[hr]

The burn replaced whatever pain he should’ve felt from taking a man’s life, but just like lives taken in the past the burn was gone like the smoke on the wind from his cigarette. Maybe that’s not how things should be, but that’s how they were for him now. He watched his team load their supplies in the backs of the SUVs, the bodies and brass sprinkled about the cabin soon to be the only evidence a battle took place here. Come morn they’d be twinkling with dew in the underbrush, but for now they were still yet warm.

The intake of a sigh through his nostrils brought the thick stink of gunpowder to him, a smell long familiar. He looked at Laine as she slid into the seat of the Yukon, but she did not look at him on the porch. He’d finish this last cigarette and join them, but for now, he was content to be alone in his rocking chair for the last time.

Dave edged his way sideways through the door, Ava cradled in his arms. He turned slowly to avoid knocking her against the door jamb, passing Donnelley with a nod. 

“Alright sugar, down the steps,” he said, walking down them one at a time. After the gunfight he’d attached himself to the small woman; taking care of her helped him keep his mind off the violence of the night, and he’d always been the old-fashioned sort, quick to help a lady in need. He reached the driveway and headed for the car that he and Donnelley would be using to get into town. 

“How you holdin’ up?” He asked, looking down at her. “Hangin’ in there?” 

“Yeah,” She answered quietly, her arms wrapped around his shoulders as she watched him approach the car. Her head still felt pleasantly foggy from the painkillers, but she felt a little more awake than earlier. “‘M sorry you have to carry me. I’ll walk next time, I promise.” 

“Nah, it ain’t a bother,” Dave smiled at her as he opened the door to the back seat. “Lil’ thing like you, I can barely feel ya. Now I’m gonna set you down, okay? You scoot on in and lay down, we’ll be with ya soon.” 

He set her on the seat, helping her get situated. “You need anything?” 

Ava shook her head as she laid down on her back, using one arm as a pillow underneath her head. “No, I think I’m okay. Thank you Dave.” She said giving him a small, if slightly dopey smile.

“You’re welcome, sugar,” Dave said. He turned and headed for the house, leaving the door open so she could get some air.

He’d once again donned his flannel shirt, since the rest of his clothes barring the suit were still up in a cabin full of corpses, and wore his pistol belt and damaged vest. He reeked of sweat, blood, and gunsmoke; the only thing he wanted more than a beer was a shower. 

As he made his way up the porch steps he looked over at Donnelley. A quick glance around proved they were alone, for the moment, and nodded at the other man. 

“How you holdin’ up, hoss?” 

“Good.” Donnelley ground the cigarette into the arm of the chair, not looking at Dave at first, but his tired eyes met his tired eyes, “Or good as I can be. Ain’t every day…” I execute a man in cold blood, he thought, “You get into a firefight. Haven’t had that much blood pumpin’ in a bit, partner.”

He sniffed, set his hands on his knees and leveraged himself standing, “You?”

“Same, or thereabouts,” Dave shrugged. “First real firefight. Did some dirt with BLACKBEARD, back home...Took my mountain back...But…” He shrugged again, unable to find the words. “It’s a different feelin’ for sure.” 

Donnelley sucked his teeth, wasn’t that the truth. His first was in Dalhart, long time ago now. “Ain’t it? Used to like it,” He admitted, then looked at the car with wounded little Ava in it, “Sometimes, I don’t know anymore. Anyhow, let’s get this convoy goin’. Me or you drivin’?”

“I can drive if ya want.” Dave nodded at Donnelley’s leg. “Your shit’s still all busted up, and I think between you gettin’ monstered an’ me an’ Ava gettin’ shot, we’re kinda low on lucky breaks. You put us into an 18-wheeler and we’re all gonna die.” 

He gave a ghost of a grin. “Hobble your ass to the car, I’ll carry your shit over. Gotta grab some stuff from the garage.” 

“[i]Hobble.[/i]” Donnelley feigned offense through a more sincere grin as he turned for the car, “Alright. Thank ya kindly.”

[hr]

Smoke was still rushing through the air, and a biting chill had taken over for the early morning hours. The beautiful silver grey of morning was mottled with a sense of urgency. Pari sat in cleaner clothes now – a neat pair of high waisted sweatpants and a cropped vest shirt in a deep teal hue. She had taken a seat around from the porch, having loaded the trunk of the car with what she’d deemed as the essentials - as well as her own belonging from the bunk. 

Pari sat in lotus position with her eyes closed, a hand wrapped around a pendant on a gold chain sitting at her collarbones. The other hand rested softly on her knee, the hand turned to face upwards at the murky sky, fingers pinched in a mudra. 

It had taken her several deep breaths to quell the thoughts of the past that had been kicked up like sand and turned this way and that – but once more there was a line of serenity, a clear sunset over an oceanic horizon in her mind's eye. Everything was still again, her heart slowed down, and she felt herself return after the shock, panic, and events of the night. She’d be driving Dr. Laine and the men to Charleston, she didn’t want to be weighed down by any fright - she needed to be a signal of strength for those who may not be. From what she’d observed of Laine, and of what her gut told her, the woman was incredibly frayed. Soothing and alternative conversation might help ground her. 

[hr]

The door slammed shut on the passenger side, Donnelley shifting in his seat a few times to get comfortable. He made to roll up the window and then realized it had been shot out. He used his suit coat to brush away the grains of glass that hung on to their shapes and then sat quietly, glancing at the Yukon in front of them and then away. He didn’t know if Laine would ever look at him the same after witnessing and being forced to be party to what The Program sometimes needed doing. He shook his head, huffing. She would either grow to understand or would not. That wasn’t up to him. He instead turned his head to the back seat, “Ava,” he called out, “You alright, trooper?”

Ava blinked her eyes open as the car moved and a door slammed shut, looking up at the back of Donnelley’s head. “Yeah, I’m okay.” She answered, pushing her glasses up to her forehead and rubbing at her eyes to try and clear some of the haziness. “I feel like my brain is swimming in molasses though.” She lowered her glasses back down to look at him again. “Where are the others going? I know we’re going to the hospital, but I don’t remember much past that.”

Donnelley found himself grinning as he listened to Ava’s slurring. He nodded, looking to the Yukon and then back to the cabin, “Gettin’ us a place to sleep for a few nights. Can’t really get comfortable in the cars.” He smiled, looking back at Ava through the rearview, “You know, you’re pretty damn tough.”

“That’s because I’m high as balls right now.” Ava muttered with a small, crooked grin, her eyes falling half closed. “And I do my crunches.”

“I might start tremblin’ if you tell me you’ve been eatin’ your wheaties on top of that.” Donnelley chuckled, “But, really. I know some Rangers that’d still be hollerin’ about now. Slap a vest on you and teach you how to shoot, we’ll have a damn Terminator.”

“Where’d Foster get you from, anyway?” Donnelley’s brow ticked up.

“Dave already called me scary, before the shooting. Maybe I [i]am[/i] scary.” She giggled before tilting her head at the question. “From CIA and Program Headquarters in Virginia. Before that, I just worked for the [i]regular[/i] CIA, but then I had some weird dreams after meeting a weird man that made me draw weird things on my walls and so they transferred me to The Program.”

She paused for a moment with a frown. “I said weird too much in that sentence.”

“Yeah, well,” Donnelley clucked his tongue and shook his head, “That sentence was too much weird. I saw some weird shit in Pakistan. I got recruited by the Regular-CIA and now I’m with The Program too, makin’ sure all that weird doesn’t get a chance to get too weird. Eight years now.”

“And it’s probably the ginger.” Donnelley winked with a devilish grin, “No souls.”

“Noo, I have a soul.” Ava protested with a frown. “I’ve only been with the Program two years.” She pushed herself up on her elbows slightly so she could see him better. Her head swam for a moment, but she shook it off to focus on Donnelley. “What weird shit did you see?” She asked curiously, raising her own eyebrows with the question.

“Black slabs.” Donnelley nodded, bitter frown on him, “Deep in them mountains in Pakistan.”

He pursed his frowning lips and sighed, letting go of those memories for a while and wondering how much shit Dave had to grab, “What kind of weird man?” Donnelley shook his head, knowing how much prying bothered him when Laine was doing it, “You know what, never mind. How do you feel about the team? They been good to ya?”

She cocked her head to the side at the vague answer but her drug addled brain let it go as she lowered herself back down on the seat. “Oh yeah.” She nodded at his question. “Everyone is so nice, a lot nicer than I thought they’d be because of the things people say about Working Groups. I was real scared after I was shot and everyone was just so…” She trailed off as she struggled to think of the right word, her brows knitting together and the wheels of thought visibly inching across her face. “Nice,” She finally settled on. “I didn’t feel so scared.”

Donnelley smiled, looking at Ava through the rearview, “It’s what a good Workin’ Group does for each other.” Donnelley said, “Some say a Team is only as good as its weakest member. Takin’ a look at any of us?”

Donnelley nodded, “We’re some tough sumbitches.” Donnelley looked back to the cabin, “Jesus Christ, Dave, you tryin’ to pack the cabin too? I ain’t got that much shit.”

Ava grinned at his comments and let her head fall back, closing her eyes. There was a beat of silence before she muttered, “His eyes weren’t human.”

As they spoke Dave finally exited the house,  his gear slung over one shoulder and a duffel bag over the other. He'd loaded it with what he could from the garage, from ammunition to ordinance. It went into the trunk with a heavy [i]thud[/i] and he slammed the door.

"Y'all all settled?" He gave them a perky grin as he sat down in the driver's seat, masking a grimace as he pulled the door closed. The bullet to his shoulder had punched straight through, the high velocity round making a tiny pinprick hole in either side, missing the bone by a couple of inches and instead taking a bit of the outer meat. The bulk of his shoulder was covered with an angry purple bruise, the sister to the ones on his chest and his face. 

"So we ain't got any music," he said, firing up the vehicle, "but I figure we can play some road games or do a sing-along. If y'all are good, we can stop for McDonald's when we get into town." 

“Thanks, Uncle Dave.” Donnelley chuckled.

“Fuck yeah, McNuggets.” Ava slurred from the back seat with a grin, what she had been talking about with Donnelley leaving her mind at the mention of food. “It’s been...forever since I ate, I think.”

"...Shit I'm hungry, too," Dave said, suddenly feeling his stomach start to gnaw at him. "...Do y'all actually want nuggets? Cuz uh… I could actually eat."  

“Fuck yeah, I’m hungry. Let’s get some goddamn [i]nuggets.[/i]” Donnelley pumped his fist in the air before retrieving his cigarettes, “Y’all mind?”

“I don’t mind stopping for nuggets before we go to the hospital.” Ava said, not able to see Donnelley’s cigarettes from where she was laying down. “Hospital food is never good anyway.”

"Go for it. Nuggets it is," Dave said, smiling broadly. He fell in behind the other vehicle. "Oh. So we got a couple rifles, some thermite, a fuckload of ammo, and a couple pipe-bombs in the back. So uh… I'm gonna drive real careful." 

“Thanks, Uncle Dave.” Donnelley echoed with the cigarette already poised between his lips. The flame kissed the end of his cigarette and he slouched back in his seat. They made it down the road and a break in the trees showed the sky the color of gold and blood. Another sunrise. “What a fuckin’ night.”

[hr]

Laine sat in the passenger side of the Yukon they had rented earlier the previous day in Charleston only to be running back there in less than sixteen hours. Frank was in the seat behind her, crammed between Jason and Justin's broad forms and Tom in the far back seat with the box containing the library books and projector, and the Keurig machine she liberated. The hell if they would be stuck choking down motel coffee. The Baughman footlocker was under the box, locked once again. 

She leaned her elbow against the door frame, the window rolled down so she could smoke without bothering the others too much. Laine watched Dave carry out Ava out the door, like a bridegroom in reverse. She took a drag from the black cigarette dangling between her fingers, it was one of her last cloves so she tried to savor it. Then he hobbled out, Donnelley was the last to leave and she glanced away. It hurt to look at him, a part of her wanted to forget and go back to how it was in Charleston but she could not. Somethings you just could not go back from. 

Her conscious nagged at her, it wasn't all about Donnelley's dirty work that bothered her, he had been honest about that possibility from the beginning. It was the Program, no loose ends were ever left to compromise their important work. 

What gnawed at her was how she had went along with it all. Laine knew in the back of her mind how it all would end yet she crossed that threshold into the room with the hooded man tied to a chair. A farce of legitimacy that even she could not pretend to have believed. Wasn't that why she hadn't bothered to read his rights until he demanded it. She had known, she had not tried to stop the beatings or the threat of torture. Laine had played her fucking part and then when it all slid out of her control she tried to escape responsibility. 

Shame filled her and she drew on the cigarette deeply until her lungs burned and started to feel the same numbing sensation that the cloves had on her throat. If only it would do that to her head as the taunting thoughts bounced around in her mind. 

She blew the smoke out in a stream, waiting as Pari made her way to the truck. 

They were ready, and Pari finished collecting herself as she made her way over, a vibrant shawl draped over her shoulders to give her just enough warmth. She'd scooped her hair atop her head into a thick bun, only a select few strands had wriggled loose. She opened the door and the freeze hit hair - the wave of uncertainty, and still she took her seat and started up the car without too much of a fuss.

Laine had taken the front passenger seat, and had she not been leaning towards the window, she would have seen a smile from her new colleague. Pari stayed quiet for the first few moments, as she took the car over the gravel - feeling its bite against the tyres. This car was bigger than she was used to behind the wheel of but as her father had always said, "if you can drive one car, you can drive any car." She smiled at the thought as the car headed down the path, leaving the safehouse in the rear view mirror as they began to crawl the landscape of rugged mountains and dense forest. 

Pari could sense that Laine's mind was at work, and as she took a glance at the boys in the back she saw that already the drive had lulled Justin and Tom to sleep. No surprise either, they'd been through hell.

Once the car tore away from the gravel to concrete, she glanced sidelong at Laine, "how are you holding up?" She asked, her expression serious but tone warm. It was a frank and heavy question to ask, but… They were in the line of frankly heavy work. 

Laine had buckled the seat belt on and remained quiet as the truck pulled out, her only movement was flicking ash out the window. When Pari spoke, Laine reluctantly pulled herself out of thoughts. 

"I'm tired," Laine answered, not looking over at her as she took another drag and watching the dark landscape. "How are you?"

"Tired," Pari answered with a shrug. "Not every night I wake up and get shot at… Really breaks up a seven hour sleep." 

She turned right at a junction, taking to a longer strip of road. "I suppose this is a bit of a welcome to the mission though." 

Laine huffed a smokey chuckle at that statement, then flicked a cascade of embers from her nearly finished cigarette. The memory of her own first mission had never faded, as being strangled by a living corpse had a way of staying with a person.

"You could say that," she replied, "You wouldn't believe me if I told you my [I] introduction [/I]. There's some weird shit in these hills."

Laine finally glanced quickly at Pari, her green eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep. The woman looked calm and pulled together, how Laine usually tried to be but at this moment she felt the threads fraying along seams in her mind. She took the last drag from her clove cigarette and snuffed it, then looked around for a place to throw it away. 

"I might," Pari replied, eyes on the road. "You teased that story earlier too. I hope to hear it sometime, even if that time isn't tonight…" Her soft voice trailed off and she narrowed her eyes. "I've seen some weird things… Scary things… But, tonight… I was pretty scared of a young woman dying in my care…" 

Laine looked back out the window when the subject returned to events of the last few hours. The gunfight had been sudden and frightening, catching them in the one place they were supposed to be safe. Ava's injury had shook them all, the least threatening of the group to suffer the most. She knew some of the punches the suspect... Michael, he had a name, she reminded herself.  Some of the punches Michael had taken from Dave and Donnelley were revenge for Ava. 

"You did really well, patching her up while Jason was unavailable," Laine sat, flicking a glance to the rear view mirror catching a glimpse of the big man who sat dozing behind her seat. "She very well might owe you her life. We already lost two people on this mission, so we owe you, too."

Laine took a deep breath, thinking briefly about the two former teammates still laying dead in the hills. Another death might have been a blow Donnelley could not have bounced back from so easily. She knew how the deaths weighed on him, how he felt responsible. Not unlike her own guilt she carried now. 

"Were you a nurse or something before the Bureau?" Laine asked, unsubtly trying to steer the conversation away from the events of that night. 

"Oh," Pari raised a brow and chuckled. "I'm not a nurse. My parents are surgeons though, so it would tickle them to hear that you thought that…" She cleared her throat, bringing back a level composure, she was concerned to hear they had lost two team members already, and maybe there were some questions about that for later. That meant her list of questions was growing longer still. Donnelley and Foster would be sure to appreciate it…

"But thank you, I just… I just did what needed to be done - just as you all did to fight them off. That can't have been easy." A quiet moment stretched on just like the road. Smooth and steady. "You have a good bond with them," Pari commented with a tilt of her head at the men in the back. "It makes everything easier when that's the case… Even the hard nights like this." 

Laine shook her head slightly, a sardonic half smile forming on her lips before she said, "I hardly fought them, I popped a few shots in their general direction. I probably put a few holes in this truck rather than any of the shooters. It was...silly, we have actual operators but the training just kicked in, I guess. It's been years since I've had to pull my sidearm."

When Pari spoke of the bond, glancing sideways at her. "Yeah, maybe we do. Being involved with things like this, especially when you can't talk about it with your friends and family outside. It'll make those bonds."

Her gaze flicked once more to the mirror, catching a glimpse of Jason's handsome freckled face. He was still sleeping and she looked back out the window, at the side view mirror where the headlights from the Suburban reflected.  

"I guess some of us are more used to it," Laine said, digging in her pocket to find the nearly empty box of Djarums, mentally debating on whether to burn another. Fuck it, she thought, there would be places in Charleston she could maybe pick up some more. 

Lighting the clove, she inhaled it deeply then let the smoke out into the early morning wind rushing past the truck. 

"You know, dude," she said, trying to stifle a yawn. "The things we see in our day jobs aren't exactly dinner table conversation."

Laine paused, then said, "So, your parents are surgeons but you followed this path. How much shit did you get for that?"

“So much, so [i]very[/i] much…” Pari laughed dryly. “They wanted me to be a doctor too,” she shrugged again, wondering if Laine’s family had ever pressured her in one direction or another. “I rebelled a lot as a teenager… I think they just accepted it eventually when by some miracle I still ended up at Stanford… Even if it wasn’t for medicine…” Her voice trailed off as she took another turn. 

Pari began tapping her fingers over the wheel, a gentle rhythm from her manicured nails. She was happy that she had an easier relationship with her parents these days, even if there were regrets somewhere in that mix too. She moved back on the conversation, wanting to steer it away from her family and back to the present; “and hey, whether you hit something or not - you stood up back there. You shot at them, you pulled your trigger when it mattered Laine.”

Laine grinned crookedly, resting her elbow on the window frame and held up the black cigarette between two fingers. "I know all about that angsty teen rebellion. And Stanford? Well, that's impressive. I went to UC Irvine for criminal psychology, from freshman to doctorate. An Anteater for life."

At Pari's comment about the shooting, Laine shrugged, "Maybe. But the boys did the real work, they saved our asses. We should, like, bake them a 'thanks for killing all the bad guys' celebratory chocolate cake or something."

As soon as the dry comment slipped her lips the image of the helpless hooded man who had been one of those bad guys popped into her mind and she visibly recoiled, sitting up in her seat. Laine closed her eyes for a moment then put the clove cigarette between her plush lips. Maybe a thank you card signed by the team for Donnelley for having to execute the man so he wouldn't run back to whoever the fuck Just Jay was and tell them all about Heather Laine, Joseph Donnelley and David MacCready. 

"So stupid," Laine said to herself then realized she spoke out loud. She exhaled smoke out the window then turned to Pari. "Sorry, it was a stupid joke. I have a bad habit of that."

Pari laughed quickly, grip tightening on the leather of the wheel, “you’re right - that was a stupid joke. As if they need to be enjoying that kind of indulgence, right? Us girls on the other hand…” Her shoulders raised and her lips curled with a soft giggle. 

She let a silence hang in the air, and she glanced sidelong at Laine. Pari’s eyebrow raised and she sighed. “I know we’ve just met and all, and I know that tonight has been especially difficult, and I know I’m no psychologist like yourself,” she stopped, taking another breath - wondering if she’d regret the words, and if she’d poked at something she shouldn’t have. She let it sit in her gut before she continued. It felt right, afterall. “Are you really okay?” The road was clear enough for her to turn her head to face the woman beside her, even if she was more concerned with the road outside of her own window.

Laine looked at the smoldering cherry at the end of the black cigarette, ash starting to build up until she flicked it into the wind. 

"I'm pretty fucking far from okay," Laine quipped, watching the sky starting to lighten in the east, a faint changing of black to indigo behind the humps of dark mountains. She sighed, then gave a slight shrug, "I just need some time, some sleep. I've been going for almost twenty four hours and I haven't eaten since breakfast."

"I don't know what it is about Blackriver that amplifies feelings, memories... I've been here less than 24 hours… It's already under my skin, you know?" Pari admitted, her expression showing moderate signs of a concern. Eyes bright, focussed on driving. "You've been here longer than I have…" She wasn't really sure why she was saying it, and why her hands were gripping the wheel tighter still. Maybe she was searching for a reassurance from Laine that there was [i]something[/i] hovering above them. She abruptly shook her head and cleared her throat. One of the men in the back stirred and her eyes shot to the rear view mirror. 

"But also, yes. We'll eat at the motel, I brought as much of the food as I could. Sorry about that, didn't mean to suggest something else was at play. You're right -- it's lack of sleep, lack of food. We can remedy that though," Pari finished, flashing a smile at Laine. 

"Blackriver is a festering sore, a weeping scab on the rot running through this country," Laine said after a moment of deep silence. "Things here are...well, they're not right. Someone is killing and skinning women in those hills. [I] Something [/I] very big and very dangerous is in those hills.  We have people dead up there. And there are those here that don't want that information to leave the county."

She glanced at the rear view mirror, Frank sleeping with his head on Jason's broad shoulder, mouth slack. "They were willing to kill a team of FBI agents to get at a witness. That tells me they are hiding something very damning. So the feeling you get in these mountains, something is definitely at play here, it's not your imagination."

Laine smoked quietly, watching the sliver of gold starting to glow beyond the deep blue rolling hills making the sky start to blush. Day was breaking, another sunrise.