>JENNINGS RANDOLPH HIGHWAY >TOWARDS WHITE TREE >JUST OUTSIDE BLACKRIVER COUNTY >15AUG2019 >0300.../// The sun still hadn’t come up, not that the mountains would’ve let Donnelley see it. They’d been driving a couple hours now, a silent convoy on empty mountain highways. As Donnelley looked past the darkened windows into the blackness of the passing hills, the words Foster had said echoed in him. No air support, no QRF. They were all alone with a madman in these hills, and with what Laine said she’d seen, Donnelley didn’t much take to the idea that he’d be sharing a vehicle with Dulane. At least it was dark enough that no one could cast a shadow. Donnelley chanced a look at Dulane, the man still sitting cuffed next to him with a bag over his head. Donnelley wouldn’t be surprised if he had that same content smile on his face. And he wanted to knock it off of him. He was sure Foster wouldn’t like that, so Donnelley went back to staring out the window, hand gripping his Badger’s pistol grip. “ETA one hour.” Foster turned his head and said, the steering wheel having not turned for a long damn while. Donnelley nodded and spoke into his comms headset, “Hounddog 1-1 to all, ETA one hour.” “Hounddog 2-1 copies.” Came the rasp of Poker’s voice through the earpiece. They continued driving in the shadows of the mountains, the road stretching on in a strip of darkness past the headlights. “Stars are nice out here.” Foster said to no one in particular, probably trying to keep himself awake. “Better in Nevada.” “Never liked them.” Overman spoke the first words since the briefing and Donnelley didn’t know whether or not he liked that it made the wizard seem human. Having a man made of stone against the things with salivating mouths just beyond the darkness was reassuring in a way. He’d seen what it did to men made of any other thing. Donnelley pulled his eyes away from Overman and back to the road. “He’s satisfied.” Donnelley heard Dulane’s voice from under the hood, “Excited.” Donnelley looked at Foster in the rearview, and Foster’s eyes couldn’t have been more troubled as he looked at Dulane in the backseat. Foster looked how Donnelley felt. Overman said nothing though, not even a nervous shuffle or cough out of him. There’s that man of stone, Donnelley thought. Overman replied, his voice betraying his curiosity, “The Sleeper?” “Mhmm.” Dulane nodded, “I made a promise.” “Yeah, we heard.” Donnelley grumbled, shifting his body to face more in Dulane’s direction and noting where he had his pistol holstered. “He been watchin’ y’all since you came here.” Donnelley could hear the smile in Dulane’s voice. Giddy, almost childish, “Been watchin’ you, Joey Boy. Since you was a soldier in Afghanistan and blew up his mountains. Good thing he’s got other ones.” Dulane chuckled, “We’re in ‘em.” “You shut the fuck up or I’ll blow your brains into your lap.” Donnelley growled. His mother had called him Joey Boy. An easy nickname that anyone could’ve made up, but it still set a chill in the man’s bones to hear. “Oh, he’d like that.” Dulane said, as if that was a pretty good suggestion Donnelley had made. “Who is this Sleeper?” Overman asked, tone still just curious, like they were all having tea and Donnelley wasn’t getting ready to kill the man. “Oh, he’s time. He sees it, everythin’, that which has been. Could have been.” Dulane whistled, “Will be. Death wakes the sleeper, but he’s patient. He’s watchin’ us now, could see the color of your shirt. Watchin’ and waitin’ on all of us.” “Since Joey Boy and Steve were in Afghanistan. Since the first time Overman Came and Saw.” Dulane chuckled, “And he been watching little ol’ Ava for a long, long time.” Donnelley frowned something dark and scooted an inch or two away from Dulane, shaking his head and looking back out the window. “He's goin’ to be so happy I kept my promise.” Dulane said, “I always have.” Donnelley sighed, talking into his earpiece, “Hounddog 1-1 to all, everybody doin’ alright?” He said, “Stretch your legs, take a piss, switch vehicles with me?” “I think I’m car sick.” Ava’s voice mumbled over the comms, she sounded tired but managed to insert a note of humor into her words. “Probably don’t want to ride with me right now.” Laine watched out the window as the morning chased them through the mountains. The momentary glimpse into darkness she witnessed made her skin crawl, the slithering shadows and the unnatural grin on Dulane's face. Every human instinct told her to get away from him, to hide but her professional duty pushed her to speak over the comm after Ava. "I can switch with you, Hounddog 1-1. I would like..." Laine felt the muscles of her neck and shoulders tighten but she continued, "I should probably spend some time with Whitetail before we arrive. If you need a break." “Roger,” Donnelley said, casting a glance Dulane’s way, where he sat patiently with that bag over his head. He didn't like not being able to see his face, expecting it to be squirming in whatever madness he’d seen in those mines, “We can do a switch when we get into Blackriver.” "Sounds good," Laine said, lacking enthusiasm. She sat back, clenching her hands together but remained silent. Queen drove the UMBRA team, checking the rear view mirror he could see Ava's pale face, "If you're feeling sick you can ride up front after Dr Laine switches trucks. Might make you feel better." “That might help, thanks.” Ava smiled as best she could, resting her head against the cool glass of her window. She rubbed her sleeve over the clammy sweat that had broken out on her forehead. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, I don’t get car sick easily.” He grinned briefly then nodded at the countryside slowly revealing itself as the sun rose. His expression changed to a flicker of a compassionate frown that furrowed his brow. "Nerves probably, Blackriver ain't been hospitable. Closer we get, the more nervous you'll probably feel. It's nothing to be embarrassed about, not after what you've experienced there." He drove on, following the lead SUV then glanced at Ava through the mirror, "But this time you got THUNDER with you, you'll be alright, Angel." “Thanks Queen.” She said, a smile tugging back at the corner of her lips before she shut her eyes and pressed her head against the cool window again. She rested there for a few moments before opening her eyes again to look over to Dave sitting with her in the back. She smiled at him and held up her hand slightly to give him a wave. Dave eyed the rearview mirror until he caught Queen's gaze, and gave the man a small nod. He still didn't like him, had little interest in being his friend, but he did appreciate the THUNDER agent being kind to Ava. He adjusted the hang of his weapon and returned Ava's smile, reaching over to quietly take her hand. In the back of the MRAP, Ghost monitored the radio traffic in silence. He'd taken one of the seats closest to the rear personnel door, positioning himself to be first on the ground if things got hairy and they had to drop dismounts, and since they'd set off he had fallen into his usual joint-ops routine, fixing a blank Oakley stare on the SWAT officers and ignoring attempts at conversation unless they were pertinent to the mission. Let the others build rapport; Ghost was there for the Game, and a bunch of non-rate SWAT "operators" would only get in the way. It didn’t stop them from trying though. A young man who looked like he’d seen a lot eyed Ghost. He could smell the DD214s on most of them since the prison. Some talked about the guy with a scar on his face, but most were fixated on Ghost. They’d seen a lot like him in Iraq and Afghanistan, and those that hadn’t were apt to spread stories about Delta Operators and Snake Eaters up in the mountains. The young man, whose patch read Willard, nodded at Ghost’s Oakleys, and tugged up his sleeve to reveal a tattoo of the 3rd Ranger Battalion’s insignia. “Afghanistan?” Ghost eyed the youngster for a few moments, failing to hide a sigh of irritation. He looked at the tattoo, considered, then nodded. "Afghanistan," he growled. "Bosnia, before that. North Africa. Iraq." The countries weren't in any particular order, and not all of them were with Delta. He'd made a decent living before Blackwater had lost their contracts and reputation. The youngster nodded, reaching an easy understanding and appreciation. Poker was sat next to Ghost and nudged him in his side-plate, a small smirk on his face, “Keep it up, they’ll ask for autographs.” Ghost grunted, unable to resist a feeling of satisfaction at the impression he'd made. He didn't like amateurs, but he did like hero worship. He leaned forward a little. "I worked with Rangers a few times. Not bad. They get the job done." It was true; he wouldn't choose a dozen Rangers over THUNDER, but they'd been professional enough. Their TACP had impressed him the most, though. The only Airman he'd met who could hang. Down the road the convoy went, the only light around them for miles on I-79 was the moon and their headlights. The last time Donnelley felt as uneasy among mountains was 2008 in Afghanistan, but whatever lurked in the shadowy pines here was more sinister than any masked Taliban farmer with a rusty Mosin. All along the road, his eyes scanned the nothingness for anything, and nothingness was all they found. After a long while of silence Foster spoke up, “We’re about to pass the border.” “Hounddog 1-1 to all, we have arrived at Objective A. Halt vehicles.” Donnelley’s voice came over the comms. The convoy slowed to a halt at the side of the road and the MRAPs made their slow and clunky turnarounds after THUNDER dismounted. After the lights of the MRAPs faded in the distance the Program Agents were cleared to shed their disguises. Anybody who knew their faces wouldn’t be fooled by patches and windbreakers. Donnelley was in full battle rattle, woodland tiger stripe and multicam backwards cap, his mask around his neck waiting to be pulled up to obscure his identity. They reviewed the maps and made sure everyone knew the plans before they mounted up and continued their drive towards White Tree. Cresting a hill, they saw the veins of light of the tiny mining town, the sky still dark, but the horizon gaining a light blue tint from the waking sun. The hills were still filled with shadows nonetheless. “Hounddog 1-1 to all, we’re about to hit Objective B, Whitetail’s old working mine is past it a ways.” Donnelley’s voice over the comms again, “Heads on a swivel, ladies and gentlemen, eyes on your sectors. Remember ROE.” Passing the first buildings of the town with their wheels crunching on the pock-marked, potholed, cracked roads of White Tree was like entering another world. One of still air and streets washed out in the sad light of street lamps, the neon light of open signs on the rundown storefronts and Annie’s Diner buzzing in the silence of the empty night. Donnelley felt a buzzing in his skin the deeper into Blackriver they went, and the screaming nerves only got worse when they made it into town. His hands gripped his Badger as he scanned windows and alleyways, rooftops and sidewalks, eyes narrowed to knife’s edges. He calmly spoke into his mic, “Hounddog 1-1 to Hounddog 2-1.” “Hounddog 2-1, go ahead, Hounddog 1-1.” “How’s your bladder about now?” Donnelley asked. “Fuck you.” Poker spat, but the smirk was in his voice, “Anybody see movement?” “Negative, 2-1.” Donnelley frowned. He didn’t like how uneventful this all was. Didn’t trust it. “Watch your sectors. It’s quiet.” “Almost [i]too quiet.[/i]” Maui’s smiling, deep voice over the frequency. Ava shivered and shuddered in her seat. Her skin was an unhealthy pale shade that glistened with a cold sweat. She had fallen quiet shortly after they entered Blackriver, her arms wrapped around herself and huddled as much as she could in her seat; either seeking to warm up or ease the pain of the aches that were starting to settle in. She heard the radio chatter in her ear, but didn’t have the energy or will to answer to any of it. She was having a hard time following what they were even saying, her head felt stuffed with cotton. Laine turned in her seat once they came to a halt, checking on the pair back there. She was struck by Ava's appearance and leaned over, reaching for her. "Hey, you look like you're getting sick, like you have a flu." She glanced at Dave, "Check her forehead, see if she's feverish." Her concern for Ava's distress now pushed the thoughts of Dulane back, maybe it was a convenient distraction but the young woman needed help. "Hounddog 1-1, this is Hounddog 1-2," she said, feeling awkward with the call signs, "1-5 might need some help." She frowned at not being sure what to say over the comms then looked around, the view that would have been a sleepy small town if not for the malice she felt or imagined. Laine's scalp prickled at the shadows in the alleys between the rundown buildings, the darkened windows. Something watched, something ancient and evil. Laine shivered, reaching for the pendant that rested under her FBI polo shirt. Before she would have scolded herself for being superstitious and jumpy but not now, not after the Hound and whatever showed itself in Dulane's shadow. Dave was already on it, placing his hands on her forehead and neck, his brow creased with concern. He didn't feel a fever, but her state bothered him considerably. If it was up to him they'd already be getting her off the mountain. "Maybe you need to lay down in the car, sugar," he said, his voice pitched low. "Ain't no need to put yourself through Hell." Ava blinked her eyes open when his hand touched her forehead, blinking at him with glazed and confused eyes. “Huh?” She asked, leaning into his hand. “I think I need to lay down.” She muttered, unbuckling her seat belt and shifting across the seat to lean against Dave. Dave put his arm around her, holding her close. He kissed the side of her head, but returned his eyes to the trees outside the vehicle, his grip tight on his weapon. “What’s wrong?” Donnelley’s voice came over the frequency, voice tinged with concern, “Do we need to abort?” Laine glanced back at Ava now curled on the seat, "I don't know, she just seems sick. Like she got hit with the flu but I don't think she's got a fever." Queen glanced at the rearview mirror and caught the intimate gesture from Dave. He smirked slightly, then snorted with a shake of his head. He focused on driving then asked, "I need to make a detour to a doctor?" “Fuck.” Donnelley hissed, looking at Foster through his mirror. The other man’s eyes were on him too, and they shared a moment of understanding. Donnelley wasn’t going to endanger one of his team needlessly. “We need to keep going.” Overman said, not looking at them. Donnelley frowned at the back of his head and looked over at Dulane. They couldn’t just drop him off and come back for him later. “Hounddog 1-1 to all, we’re stopping once we get out of the town.” “Donnelley.” He heard Foster speak up from the front seat and he immediately saw what Foster was looking at. Blocking off the road was a SWAT truck, Blackriver Sheriff Dept emblazoned on the sign. Red road flares lit the roadblock up and Donnelley counted ten of them. They were dressed and outfitted like they’d stepped out from the 90s. Vintage M16s and MP5s, soft armor vests, but they had enough guns to level the playing field. They had home turf advantage as well. Donnelley growled as the words echoed again, no air support, no QRF. Foster eased the Yukon to a halt in front of the block. One of the officers lifted a radio to his lips and his voice came from a loudspeaker, “Blackriver Sheriff Department. Any law enforcement operation goin’ on here comes through us.” He said, “We can give you an escort through Blackriver.” Donnelley gripped his Badger’s grip, Foster tightened his fists around the steering wheel. Overman and Dulane were quiet. “What’s the plan, 1-1?” Poker’s voice over the comms. The loudspeaker came again, “If you do not answer in a timely fashion, you must turn back. Either way, you’re gettin’ an escort.” “What’s our play, Foster.” Donnelley spoke, eyes steady on the roadblock in front of them. “I don’t see them givin’ us any other option.” Foster rolled down his window and showed his hand, waving at the deputies. The one holding the mic waved at another, sending him over to cross the line and greet them. No bullets yet, Donnelley thought, that was good. “How’re y’all, where you headed?” “I’m Special Agent in Charge Shaun Forrester, FBI. We’re transporting a subject to a scene related to an ongoing investigation.” Foster said, showing his FBI badge. “We ain’t heard nothin’.” The deputy snorted, “We’ll let y’all pass through Blackriver or turn back. We ain’t got any official notification ‘bout none of this, so you either follow us back to 79 and get your asses back to the city or turn back where y’all came from.” “Foster…” Donnelley growled from the back, “What’re we doin’, man?” Donnelley didn’t wait for Foster to respond, whispering into his mic, “1-1 to all, y’all keep yourselves ready.” Dave listened to the radio chatter and tightened his grip on his rifle, gritting his teeth. "Stay low, sugar," he said quietly. In the passenger seat of the Yukon, Ghost rolled his neck and shook out his shoulders, then did a brass-check on his rifle. A hint of a smile crept across his face, then vanished behind the skull-embroidered neck gaiter that he pulled up over his nose. "2-2 copies," he said, his voice a low growl as he readied himself for action. Foster sighed, offering the backwoods deputy a smile, “Look, it’s gotta be a misunderstanding, if you want to put a call in to the Clarksburg office-“ “We ain’t doin’ that shit,” The deputy stood back and leveled his rifle at Foster’s face, “Get out of the goddamn vehicle and on the ground!” “You just need to put in a call-“ “On the fuckin’ ground!” The Deputy shouted again, jabbing the barrel of his M-16 at Foster, “Get out and put your hands behind your head!” Laine watched the scene deteriorating before them, the roadblock and now the occupants of the lead vehicle having guns pulled on them. She felt a chill. They could not get their hands on Dulane. "What do we do?" She asked Queen who now had one hand on his Uzi. "Nothin' yet," he said then got on the comms, "Hounddog 2-1, we got a situation. Locals big dicking it with the lead vehicle, dunno if you can see what's going on. Looks like they're trying to force people out of the truck. Guns are out. Over." “We see it, 2-4. Waiting on go ahead.” Poker’s voice rose a tad at the last bit, hopefully rousing Donnelley from whatever stupor that asshole was in. Back in the lead vehicle, Donnelley eyed the Deputy next to their Yukon and the line of cops in front of them. They were stopped at a bottleneck in the road, right in front of a four-way stop. An alley was at their right, but it could hardly fit the big Yukon’s. “Got any tricks, Hounddog 3?” “I’d prefer not to show the card up our sleeve until it matters.” Overman grumbled. “Oh, sorry, this probably just counts as a minor inconvenience.” Donnelley narrowed his eyes at Overman, “Asshole.” Overman sighed, glancing at Donnelley, “I’m doing this for the mission.” “Doing what?” Donnelley hissed, until he watched Overman lean towards Foster’s window and start to speak something that drained the sound out of the world around them. Foster held his hands over his ears in confusion and Donnelley heard a pulsing ring overtake his hearing. The Deputy lowered his M-16, moving as if someone had their hands around his wrists, unholstering his service pistol and jabbing it under his chin with his own shaking hands, “What the f-f-f-“ The Deputy’s eyes bulged through his sockets as the weapon discharged into his skull, dropping lifelessly to the ground like a marionette. A hail of gunfire shattered the tense moment, the windshield catching the small arms fire from the roadblock, cracking and bulging with the impacts. “Fuck!” Foster yelled and tried to curl into himself, as if his arms would protect him if the mangled armor of the windshield wouldn’t, bullets punching the bulletproof glass and making it bulge inward. Poker decided that was as much of a go ahead as any to engage, stomping his foot into the gas of the Yukon and jumping position to the front of the convoy. He turned and made the side of the Yukon a shield for Foster and Donnelley’s vehicle, “2-1, dismount, we got you covered!” Poker called out, “2-4, move up, get Whitetail a seat!” The sudden suicide was more shocking than the gunfire that followed, Laine watched the exchange from the second Yukon and turned to Queen. "We need Dulane, we can't let them take him," she said, ducking down instinctively as shots rang out. Queen put the truck in drive and said over the comms, "Hounddoggies, we need us a Whitetail. Gimme some cover." Donnelley was the first out, a fistful of Dulane’s prison jumpsuit as he hauled him out of his seat. They both kept low as Donnelley yanked the cargo door of the Yukon open and shoved Dulane inside, “Get through that fuckin’ alleyway and find your way out of town towards the objective! We’ll catch up!” Donnelley slammed the cargo door closed and bounded for Poker’s vehicle, Foster and Overman already taking cover behind. "Yeah buddy," Queen muttered and as soon as the door slammed shut he shoved the truck in reverse, pulling back until he was lined up with the narrow alley to make a sharp right turn then drove forward. "Make sure your arms are inside and mirrors pulled tight," he said, the big side mirrors a hair's breadth from scraping the walls. "Hey, Davey boy, make sure our guest is secure and comfy," Queen said, glancing at the rear view mirror and then saw Ava slumped on the seat. "Dr Laine, might check on her." Laine pulled off her seat belt and turned back, looking for any blood but Ava was untouched, just ill and weak. The truck weaved as it burst from the alleyway and Laine almost fell into Queen but forced herself back in her seat and drew her service weapon and sat tense as he drove down the street away from the gunfire. Ava stirred slightly from her half asleep stupor as she was flung against the side of the Yukon from the force of Queen’s driving. “What’s happening?” She asked in dazed confusion. Laine looked over her shoulder, "Stay down, we have the attention of the Blackriver deputies. Maybe get on the floor if you can." She glanced up at the hooded figure on the cargo space and decided against mentioning Dulane. Dave snatched Dulane as he was pushed into the vehicle, maneuvering him into the cargo space. His heart was pounding, but curiously he found that aside from worrying about Ava, he was more excited than afraid. As the vehicle peeled off he checked his rifle and settled in, ready for order. [hr] As hell broke loose on the convoy, Ghost broke into a wide grin beneath his mask. Then it vanished, his eyes going cold as the monster came to the fore. "THUNDER dismount," he snapped. "Frag, suppress, then smoke, Yukon is mobile cover." Then he was out and the Game began. A frag slipped into his hand before he'd even forced the door closed with his hip, and he pulled the pin, flipped the spoon, and after a two-count flung it past the windshield and into the foe. There was a hard bang, a shockwave he felt in his chest, and he popped over the hood and hammered a suppressive burst, watching the rounds strike home. As he pulled back into the cover of the Yukon he let his rifle hang and primed a smoke grenade, then stepped back to toss it low, where it skipped across the ground and came to a rest between the vehicle and the enemy position. It popped, then hissed, and thick green smoke filled the air. Surrounded by familiar faces as the rest of his team shoved off to find safety, Donnelley felt a weight off his shoulders. Like responsibility had left to be replaced with a single purpose- close with and kill the enemy. He trusted Queen to get his people out of there, and he trusted the men around him to do what they’d done best for years together. When the frag slipped Ghost’s hands and made a plume of dust and shrapnel, the police barricade scattered, some crawling bloodied. Tex and Foster rose to take advantage of the panicked deputies breaking cover, but a lucky shot pitched Foster onto his back. Tex paid it no mind, Maui was the one assigned medic duty for THUNDER, and he could hear Foster cursing. Tex’s disciplined burst cut a deadly path towards the deputies and he watched one catch his lead, tripping and stumbling onto his hands and knees before dropping entirely. Tex pounded on the passenger side window with a gloved fist, “Poker, move us up!” The other man gave him a thumbs-up and rolled towards the blockade at an easy pace. Pops and whizzes of passing incoming fire, the concrete near them chipping and shattering with the incoming rounds. Tex kept behind the Yukon, Foster back on his feet with Maui. “Frag out.” Tex’s voice rose in the comms as he chucked a grenade towards the general direction of the blockade. He heard the detonation, but it’s effects were unknown. Hopefully they at least kept some heads down. “We’re goin’ to need to get off the streets, into one of these shops.” “If I can get rooftop access, I can give you overwatch.” Maui spoke up. "Go," Ghost snapped. "Take Foster, get to high-ground. Tex, covering fire." He put action to his words and fired a quick burst through the plate glass of the nearest storefront. He was reluctant to use another grenade on a pack of amateurs. Instead he sighted on a target towards the edge of the blockade, where the smoke was doing less to conceal them. The cop was in the open, standing still, his antique M16 raised in a 90s chicken-wing stance. A gentle caress of the heavily customized trigger saw the man drop, the heavy .300BLK round crashing through the bridge of his nose and filling his helmet with his brains. Ghost felt a brief moment of satisfaction before putting a pair of covering bursts through the smokescreen. "This isn't a fight," he grumbled. As much as Tex appreciated a good old fashioned gunfight, he was glad it was disappointing Ghost. It meant that it would be over quick, if they were lucky. He leaned out from the Yukon, offering just the slightest sliver of himself from behind cover and let loose a controlled triplet at the first unlucky cop he saw, a blob of movement through the haze of smoke. The shape ducked down, but Tex had to flinch back behind cover when rounds sent splinters of glass off the Yukon in his face. “Fuck!” The heavy incoming fire cut a swathe across the street as Foster and Maui sprinted for the storefront to their right, the pops and whizzes adding urgency to their pace. Maui stumbled and rolled as Foster went crashing through the plate glass window. The big Hawaiian operator got back to his feet and followed Foster through, his voice coming over the comms, “I’m fucking hit, bro!” He said, more angry than panicked, “I can still move, we’re looking for a ladder, keep moving up.” "God dammit, will you idiots stop getting shot!" Ghost roared into the comms, firing another burst around the Yukon. The bolt snapped back, and he exchanged the empty magazine for a full one without conscious thought. "These are barely more than rednecks with deer rifles, and we've got shit to do after this!" [hr] Queen turned down the street that ran parallel to the road they were just on and he could hear the exchange over the comms. He glanced at Dave in the rearview mirror, his first thought was to go around behind those cops and flank but then his gaze fell to Ava's huddled form. "Fuck," he muttered, his responsibility was to get UMBRA out of danger and he would have to leave his own team to their fate. He stomped on the gas to keep from changing his mind, rushing towards the outskirts of town. Laine gripped the oh shit bar as the Yukon made the sharp turn, she too could hear the voices over the comms and held her gun in her lap. If they ran into Blackriver deputies, she might have to use it. "You know where you're going?" She asked Queen as he raced down the road. "Taking y'all away from the action," Queen said, not looking away from the road. "I think we can find a spot outside town, just gotta make it through. THUNDER has their boys occupied. We should be fine." Laine kept her grip on her gun, watching the still sleeping town rush by as they hauled ass away from the blockade. Queen glanced again at Dave, it would fall to them if anyone tried to stop them, maybe the FBI doc might pull the trigger but then again she might have some fucking moral quandary. Dave, despite Queen's personal feelings, had proven himself in the intense training at Langley and Tex had attested to the Ozark boy's toughness. Queen trusted Tex so in extension trusted Dave to be able to do his job. "How you holding up, Dave?" He asked without his usual mocking tone. "I'm ready." Dave's drawl was easy, relaxed, his nerves masked for Ava and Laine's sake. Inside his heart was pounding, and his hands were sweaty inside his Mechanix gloves, but he schooled his features into a cool, composed expression. He looked down at Ava, bundled onto the floorboard, and leaned down to stroke her hair for a moment. "Gonna be alright, sugar. Queen can drive an' I can shoot, an' Laine is smarter than me an' him." [hr] “Alright, I’m in position,” Maui’s voice came over the comms. Already, he had taken up his vantage point and Tex could hear the cracks of Maui’s rifle raining down pinpoint death. “Scratch one. They’re falling back to their armored truck.” “Poker, keep us movin’.” Tex said, keeping his head low on their steady advance as he seated his new mag. “We’ll keep advancing until they fall back. They’ll be heading in Queen’s direction, we’ll limp our trucks to rendezvous.” Ghost peeked around the Yukon. They were losing their smoke, the wind beginning to disperse the dense green cloud. Several of the cops were down, others were clustered near one of their vehicles, seeking what cover they could. He was loathe to use another grenade; frags were a precious commodity. Still, a chance like this was too good to pass up, and he consoled himself with the knowledge that at least it would help wrap things up before any more of his loyal morons got themselves shot by the rabble. The big operator did another corner-peek, then stuck the barrel of his shortened rifle around the truck and fired four blind shots. The purpose wasn't to kill, but to distract, and hopefully keep that group in cover. He quickly palmed a grenade and yanked the pin, then flipped the spoon. [I]One...Two…[/i] Ghost leaned, aimed, and tossed the grenade in a heartbeat, flipping the weapon over the enemy's cover with an almost nonchalant underhand throw. “Holy sh-“ Tex heard the scream and the loud boom of the frag grenade. Scratch another one, he thought. He peeked around the corner and saw them scattering like roaches, sighting up on one and squeezing off a burst. The deputy stumbled, his rifle clattering and skidding away from him as he landed on the ground. “Fuck! I’m hit, I’m hit!” The deputy bleated. A shot rang out and the Deputy went limp and lifeless. “One down.” Maui’s voice over the comms. “They’re booking it, we gonna chase them?” Ghost popped a couple of ineffectual rounds at the two remaining deputies as they fled. "Probably should," he grumbled. "See if you can put them down from your angle. Poker, we want to go after them if he can't?" “Yeah, I’ll take you closer.” Poker said. Tex watched the remaining two deputies run for their lives, now regretting accosting a convoy full of top secret killers. As he sighted up on the pair, he thought to himself, how had they known they were coming? He squeezed off a few rounds to no effect, cursing under his breath as the deputies turned down an alleyway and disappeared. “Everybody get to the truck, we don’t have time for this. 2-4 is waiting for us to get to Objective C.” Following his own words, Tex yanked the passenger door open and climbed in, Poker nodded at him, “I saw you miss.” “Fuck yourself.” Tex shook his head. “Help me deal with this mess of a windshield, man.” Poker nodded at the screen of cracks and bulges, almost completely unable to be seen through. Poker and Tex went to work punching out the windshield of the Yukon, the sheet of strong glass sliding off the hood and scuffing on the streets. The rest of the team made their way back to the Yukon and they fled the scene hastily. Almost miraculously, the wheels of the Yukon had gone unscathed by the fire of the untrained deputies. Maui and the others sat in the back, the big Hawaiian patching up his own wound, a bullet wound that had been shallow. If it was any worse, they wouldn’t have heard the end of it. “1-1 to 2-4, we’re en route to your position.” It didn’t take long for them to find the other Yukon. The sleek black SUV like a sore thumb in the ragged streets. Poker pulled up alongside the idling vehicle on the side of the road some ways outside of town. Tex tried rolling down his window but found that it had been broken off its track a few inches down, showing only his eyes. He nodded at Queen in the driver’s seat of the other Yukon, “Oralé, mi hermano.” Queen breathed out a sigh and grinned as the beat up Yukon rolled up. He put down the window, leaning in his elbow as Tex peaked out. "¡Acere, qué bolá!" He said, flashing a smile, "Just waiting on y'all having all the fun." He eyed the bullet marked truck then raised his brows. Queen moved back suddenly, Laine pushing herself into his space, "Donnelley, are you alright? Is anyone hurt?" Queen leaned back but did not look too upset with the FBI agent across his lap and made a lascivious expression that flashed quickly across his face before he caught himself. “Maui’s hit, but he’s alright. How’s Ava?” Donnelley asked, “Didn’t encounter much resistance out here?” Laine shook her head, "Nothing, no one bothered us and Ava's not feeling well, she's weak and looks like a flu, maybe. Dave's taking care of her." The flu. Laine hardly believed that but what other explanation for her sudden onset of fatigue and nausea and instinctively she glanced back at the cargo space where Dulane sat silent in the hood. “We need to get to Objective C, Queen. We’ll take the lead.” Donnelley rolled his window back up, their Yukon resuming the trek out to the hills past White Tree towards Dulane’s former working mine. “Hope this shit don’t make it into the news.” Laine buckled her seatbelt and glanced over at the backseat, unable to see Ava except for her red curls. Queen waited for the shot up truck to take the lead, pulling behind them and following at a couple car lengths to leave enough room to maneuver but close enough not to get strung out and allow another vehicle to get between them. His Uzi sat on the cup holders and the adrenaline melted away, unspent as their flight had been fairly easy. He felt the itch, the desire for the cocaine in his pocket becoming stronger but the occupants of the truck were a deterrent. Instead, Queen took a cigarette from the green box tucked into one of the tactical pockets and lit up. Those in the lead vehicle drove in silence, Poker had his mask up to shield himself from the wind and Donnelley followed suit. There was something that plagued his mind the more he thought about it, “How the fuck did they know we were comin’?” He thought aloud, “How the fuck did they know our route?” Foster narrowed his eyes and looked around, eyes settling on Donnelley. He was likely mulling over the same thing. The Operation was insulated, UMBRA and THUNDER were the only ones who knew. Overman was silent for a long while, stuffed in the cargo space to his chagrin, “You’ve got a mole.” “No shit, genius. We’ve known that since Carlisle.” Donnelley retorted, “Who’d know though?” [hr] No one had an answer. He couldn’t picture anyone putting a mission like this in jeopardy. To Donnelley, there was no personal gain from impeding the investigation into dead girls in the dark heart of Appalachia. He understood that not everyone was like him though. All the evidence he needed for that claim was gotten long ago, far before the Program, far before his stint in Special Forces. When he kicked in a door or two and found little girls and boys with too much age in their eyes and not enough food. Doped up sometimes, dead behind the eyes most times. Needles in the bathroom sink, meth pipes on the dinner table. White Tree wasn’t special. But whatever was in these hills was. The passing trees and slowly brightening sky surrounded them as they stopped their vehicles at a closed off road that turned off from the main one. This was their stop, moment of truth. He gathered his people around him and trusted they were up for the task still. Ava still looked like death, but there was a mission to be done. They’d all gone this far, and Donnelley didn’t mourn UMBRA’s dead just to turn back. “We’re goin’ on foot from here. Only way through these roads is hikin’.” He said, “Forgive me if I don’t trust Dulane here to be a faithful guide, but him and the maps we got are the only things we do.” He looked around at his team. Laine, Dave, Jason, Ava, Foster. THUNDER too. “Any of you wanna turn back, go ahead. But you call up Dawant and tell him to take you to Maria’s grave and apologize to her parents that you just couldn’t find it to bring the people behind it all to justice.” No one moved. Donnelley nodded, “Let’s go.” As the others prepped their gear, double-checking everything, Donnelley found Ava and brought her to the side with him. They were out of earshot of the others, but he could speak plainly even if they weren’t. He watched her swaying in place, paler than usual, and offered her a concerned expression, “You don’t need to push yourself for this. I mean it.” He said, “I can have someone stay with you.” Ava blinked her eyes, trying to focus on Donnelley’s face and wondering if her contacts had slipped out of place as the edges of everything seemed to have a gaussian blur to them. Her head was foggy to the point that the dull ache she felt behind her eyes didn’t really bother her. “Am I a liability?” She asked after taking an extra moment to process what he said and formulate a response. Donnelley almost cringed at her choice of words, punching him almost as hard as it did her. No matter the fondness for his team, he had to be honest. If anything, it was in their best interest. As he saw it, a long ruck wasn’t in Ava’s, “I can’t have you traipsin’ in these woods like you are.” Donnelley pursed his lips, “No shame. How far’s the range on them drones?” She frowned, staring down at the dirt as she tried to remember the range of the drones. “EVE can fly...20-ish miles. WALL-E doesn’t go as far, you can probably take him though. Use him for the mines.” She ran a hand over her forehead, the fingers holding a faint tremor in the digits. “I’m sorry, I don’t...Don’t know what’s wrong with me.” “You’ll be alright, okay?” Donnelley laid a hand on Ava’s shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze, “After we get this done, we can figure it out. I promise.” Donnelley nodded to the trucks, “For now, just rest. Who do you want stayin’ with you?” “I can.” Overman’s voice over Donnelley’s shoulder, “I have a, uh, feeling about what’s going on with her.” Donnelley narrowed his eyes, turning from Ava and looking Overman over. To Donnelley, the man was an outsider, and him treading so close to a private conversation was enough for Donnelley to feel a little bitter, “Yeah?” He hissed. “Yes,” Overman nodded, his expression not changing with Donnelley’s defensiveness, “I’m under a spell too. Not in, ah, that way. I’ve felt this way before.” Donnelley looked at Ava, inclining his head for her to voice her decision. It was hers to make. “I can get Queen or…” he shrugged. Ava blinked over at Overman, trying to fully register that he was there. She stared for a moment, processing the information before turning her head to call out as best she could, “Dave!” Once she saw him perk up to the call of his name she turned back to Overman. “You know what’s wrong with me?” She asked, fighting to keep her body from swaying too much the longer she stood. She wanted to sit down. “Can you make it stop?” “It’s simple.” Overman nodded, he looked from Dave back to Ava, and stepped just a bit closer, “But we can’t do anything about it now. Not yet.” Overman turned to Donnelley, “If you want her to get better, we need to start moving now. The quicker we get this done and get out of here, the quicker she’ll feel better. And me.” Donnelley sighed, a low growl in the silent moment. He looked at Ava and considered her condition, and looked back to Overman, “Fine.” Donnelley looked to Ava with some resolve, “We’ll get this done. Hold us to it.” She nodded before leaning herself against Dave. “Can Dave stay with me too?” She asked. “I’m okay with that,” he said, almost instantly. He slipped his free hand around her waist, kept his other on his AK, and gave Overman a quick look. “I mean, we probably need some sorta gun here, right?” Donnelley didn’t like the prospect of losing one of his shooters, no matter how newly-minted the title was for Dave. Not only that, but the damned warlock was electing to stay behind. Having Dulane around and finding whatever they would in these hills without someone who knew how to level the playing field wasn’t something Donnelley was keen on. He opened his mouth to speak, finding his eyes gravitate to where Dave’s hand had found a perch. He looked to where Laine was, checking her gear, knowing he’d do the same for her. He’d vowed it after almost watching her die that first day on the job. Or maybe he was projecting. Either way, he looked back to the three of them that were staying back and nodded, “Okay.” He tried his best smile on, a little small for his liking, but it’d do to cover up his disappointment with the circumstances, “No joy rides.” Dave nodded, trying to keep his relief from showing. Ava suddenly falling ill was bothering him in ways he couldn’t quite put into words; he wasn’t afraid to go on a gunfight, but the idea of leaving her behind with some witch stuck in his craw. “No joyrides, gotcha,” he said, forcing a small smile of his own. “Hear that, sugar? You gotta behave.” Ava nodded, resting her head on his chest, grateful to have his solid weight to keep her standing upright. “No surprise Taco Bell runs.” She mumbled, giving Donnelley a thumbs up. Donnelley sucked his teeth, hoping to stoke the smoldering humor Ava was trying to drudge up. They all needed it. “You know if you leave now, you might have it waitin’ for us when we get back.” He said, “Bean burrito for me.” She smiled dimly and chuckled. “Maybe a bunch of greasy fast food would take away this headache.” She lightly bumped her head against Dave. “Is there anything else?” “Keep safe.” Donnelley nodded, “We’ll be checkin’ in every half-hour or so. We miss one of the check-ins…” He turned deadly serious and looked at Dave, “Don’t come lookin’.” Dave grimaced. “Yeah, that’s probably fair,” he said. “And uh, likewise. Chances are if somethin’ takes us all out at once, it ain’t nothin’ the group coulda helped with, right?” Donnelley shrugged, his smile turning sheepish, “I liked talkin’ ‘bout burritos better.” He said, and nodded to Overman, “‘Sides, you got Dumbledore here.” [hr] Donnelley expected to be chuffing lung about now, but those hours in the gym had helped. His breathing was steady and he was almost tempted to check his pulse as if this was a leisurely hike. For a moment, as he looked at Laine keeping up with him, him and his dumb little smile could almost swear it was. And then from the back of the pack, he heard Dulane giggle like a schoolboy and mutter something about promises or the Sleeper just before Poker told him to shut the fuck up. “How you holdin’ up?” Donnelley asked Laine, “Ain’t this a nice walk?” Laine walked along, the squats Ghost had pushed her through during the time at Langley paying off as she could feel herself passing the usual threshold of endurance. Her short dark hair was damp at her temples from exertion but her breathing was even. She glanced at Donnelley in his tiger striped camouflage gear, feeling strangely out of place in the dark FBI polo and tactical pants. Laine caught his expression and smiled slightly despite her worry. "I'm doing alright, at least with the hike," she said, "I thought about talking to Dulane but...I don't think he's in condition for a conversation. Leaving Overman behind, too. I don't know." She shrugged, feeling that crawling discomfort up her spine, the memory of the squirming tendrils in the shadow of the man made her glance over her shoulder. Laine looked back at Donnelley, searching his face and his eyes, "How are you doing?" “Well,” Donnelley looked over his shoulder at the line behind them, Maui and Poker were talking. Queen was talking at Ghost and the big operator was ignoring him. Dulane was being Dulane, “Kinda hit the nail on the head. I don’t like Overman not bein’ here. Feel like I don’t have a gun.” Donnelley sighed, shaking his head, “And we’re down one shooter.” He said, “Ava’s sick with I don’t know what. Overman’s the only one who knows about it and Dave won’t leave her alone with him.” He shrugged, “Guess I can’t blame him.” "That's the feeling, a vulnerability without our expert," Laine agreed, watching a bird flap frantically from the bushes ahead of them. It disappeared into the branches overhead and the sky beyond. "It's strange, but I've seen flu hit hard and fast, yet," she paused, stepping over a root pushing up from the earth. "I don't think it's a virus, I think it's this place or maybe it's Dulane and whatever is..." Laine gave Donnelley a look, a moment of doubt before the professional expression returned, "Whatever he brought with him." The mention of Dave made Laine smile a little and she said, "Of course he wouldn't leave her, he's got it bad for our techie." Donnelley let out a loud chuckle, catching himself and looking behind him to see if anyone was paying attention, “I’m glad I ain’t the only one to notice. He doesn’t even try to hide it.” He smiled, looking at a squirrel scurrying up a tree, “I’m his fuckin’ supervisor and he got handsy right in front of me.” “At least I keep my extracurricular activities under wraps.” He smirked and glanced at Laine, “I miss the hell out of those activities right about now. Saving the world gets stressful.” "Staking his claim in front of another male, even if you are friends," Laine said, glancing at him. "Well, he's not a professional, he’s probably not thinking about HR." Laine grinned at his comment, looking down at the ground for a moment, "You're not alone in feeling that way." She looked back up at him, a little twinkle in her green eyes, a brief distraction from the looming conclusion of their hike. Laine lowered her voice, leaning in a little towards him, "Ever do it in a haunted mine?" Donnelley’s smirk grew a bit wider, “First time for everythin’. Think we can ditch these squares back there?” She laughed, covering her mouth to quiet herself, flashing a crooked smile at Donnelley. "I'm pretty sure, there's lots of tunnels. We just need one." Donnelley chuckled, “This might be the wrong time to bring it up, but assumin’ we do what we always do and come out the other side of this,” he shrugged, trying to find words that weren’t so blatant, “You ever wanted to, uh, use the other one. You know, just try.” Laine bit her lower lip, smothering a sputter of laughter. She took a deep breath, sobering her expression as best she could. She turned to him, her mouth trembling as it fought back an amused smile. "Did you really just... did you just ask for the key to the backdoor?" She felt another giggle bubble up and covered her mouth, giving Donnelley a mischievous glance. After a moment she got control of herself and said, "Well, you'll just have to survive to find out." Donnelley let out a sigh of contentment, smiling with closed eyes, “Finally, a cause worth fightin’ for.” “Hey, what the fuck!?” Donnelley turned to see what Poker was yelling about to see Dulane barrel into him and send him sprawling onto his back. Donnelley swore and rolled over onto his stomach, sighting up on Dulane just in time to see him disappear down another trail, running as if the hood didn’t even bother him. His ankle shackles and cuffs were long gone. “Hold your fire!” Foster yelled, putting his hands out to keep everyone from squeezing triggers, “Get the hell after him and get him detained!” Laine's smile vanished as Dulane shoved by her, knocking Donnelley down and rushing by. It took a moment to register he was no longer shackled. "How the hell...?" She did not finish the thought before she was running after him, they needed Dulane. The trail was wide enough but overgrown branches still managed to slap at her as she charged after the escaping con. "Stop! FBI, get on the ground!" she shouted, the old agent training kicking in even when it made no sense. This was more than a prison break, there was a wild urgency in the air. Queen’s mouth was running again, something about Cabo and hookers and blowing off post-mission steam. Ghost wasn’t sure if he was reminiscing, or making suggestions for after this gig. He’d lost the thread of the conversation soon after it had started, and had never bothered to pick it back up. Instead he played Oakley-shielded eyes over the underbrush around them, tuning out the background chatter with the ease of years of experience. It was the movement more than anything that caught Ghost’s eyes. The sudden flurry of motion drew him like a breaking deer draws a wolf, and after taking a half second to process, [i]a half second longer than he’d have needed five years ago[/i], he was moving too, pelting into the woods with his rifle tucked into the crook of his arm. His knees hadn’t started to protest yet, but they would soon, and he was already silently reminding himself to pull the rabbit punch he intended to punish Dulane with, lest he break the bastard’s neck for making him run. Donnelley was hot on Ghost’s heels, finding it almost impossible that the bigger man was keeping up with them just as well. His blood was still running hot after getting bowled over by that insane fuck, and he had his teeth bared for Dulane’s neck as he pumped his legs on the trail, boots pounding on the packed dirt. “I’m gonna shoot you, you motherfucker!” He roared as made his sprint, but Dulane seemed almost tireless, always keeping a few meters in front of them. Every time they gained on him, it seemed he just started running faster. Donnelley’s legs and lungs started burning, but he pushed through the pain. The whole way, they only managed to pace him until they slowly started to fall back. As he watched Dulane, he wondered if he was letting them follow him. Where was he leading them? Did he even know? Without warning, Dulane jumped into the underbrush, wading through the thick of it towards what looked like an old trapper’s cabin hidden deep in the trees. Dulane collided with the door, but it didn’t budge, shaking in place. The deranged inmate banging on the wood and screaming to be let in. He dropped to his knees in the dirt and began ripping up clods of it, blubbering sobs erupting from his throat. The human body is surprisingly resilient. Typically, it can sustain an impressive amount of damage before anything becomes truly serious. This was all Dulane had going for him as over 315 pounds of pissed off Operator slammed into him at maximum sprint. Ghost had seen the threat, categorized it, and decided that maximum impact was the best way to bring the chase to a close before his knees really started to protest the strain they were under. Ghost met Dulane chest-first, his rifle snug against his side beneath his right arm. The moment he struck the raving man he wrapped his left tightly around him and simply allowed his momentum to bring them to the ground, where his full bulk landed squarely on the shrieking convict. Ghost kept him clenched against him as they tumbled, and then as they came to a stop he took the mount, ignoring his own breathlessness in favor of thrusting his forearm beneath Dulane’s chin, ready to snap his neck at the first sign of resistance. Donnelley crashed out of the treeline and skidded to a halt behind Ghost, sliding on his knees to help restrain the convict. He trusted Laine to cover the cabin’s doors and windows, whatever might be inside this dilapidated shack. He cranked Dulane’s arms behind his back so Ghost could get to work cuffing the man, “I’ll give it to you, Dulane,” Donnelley said between breaths, “You’re a fast sumbitch.” "Not fast enough," Ghost growled. He pulled the police-issue cuffs from his belt, slapping them on and cranking them down perhaps a notch or two tighter than was appropriate, doing his best to conceal his heavy breathing for the sake of his pride. [I]Fuck him for making me run.[/i] That done he stood and grabbed Dulane by his collar, hauling him upright and taking control of him with his left hand, his right automatically going to the grip of his rifle and angling the weapon towards the nearest window. "Fuck is this?" Ghost said, nodding at the cabin. "Something in there worth getting your arms broken over, freak?" He gave Dulane a shake, like an unruly child, to indicate that he was being spoken to. Dulane was still letting loose his grating sobs, shaking his entire body with it. Donnelley was starting to get real tired of Dulane’s shit and he wrapped his fist in Dulane’s hood and yanked it off of his head. To his surprise, what he thought were sobs was laughter, a jubilant expression on Dulane’s face. A manic happiness only the insane owned. “The fuck’s your deal, Dulane.” Donnelley stepped back and muttered, unsettled by the change of mood. “Joey boy,” Dulane chuckled, his laughter dying down a bit as he fixed Donnelley’s eyes with a gross stare, “Come and see. Come and See, come and see, come and see, come and see!” Donnelley wrapped his hand around Dulane’s mouth and held a finger in his face, “If you don’t keep your fuckin’ teeth together, boy, I’ll knock ‘em out of your face.” A few giggles escaped from between Donnelley’s fingers. He fixed Dulane with a death glare and let him go roughly, “What the fuck is in this cabin?” “You shouldn’t have left them Joey Boy. You shouldn’t have let them go into these hills alone.” Dulane slowly shook his head, a mechanical turning from left to right, eyes fixed on Donnelley. “Who?” Donnelley swallowed, “Who?” “You know who, Joey Boy,” Dulane smiled, “Death wakes the Sleeper. Every each one makes him stir a bit. Laurie, Weissman-“ Donnelley didn’t let another word out of that loose fucking mouth of Dulane’s, cutting him off with a right hook. He clamped his hands on his shoulders and took up fistfuls of his jumpsuit, driving his helmet into Dulane’s nose hard enough to hear the sharp crack of a breaking nose. “You don’t say their fuckin’ names!” “Help!” Dulane yelped in his new nasally voice, “Don’t let him hurt me no more… [i]Jake.[/i]” He looked to Ghost with that same thousand-yard, piercing stare. Ghost's reaction was instantaneous. He grabbed Dulane by the head with both hands and flung him to the ground, following him down. A hard, punishing right crashed into his jaw and then Ghost rocked back, jammed the barrel of his rifle into his mouth, and clicked off the safety. All Dulane did was smile around the flash hider and feverishly nod his head. “Ghost.” Donnelley said, his own rifle shouldered, but his forward hand held out in trying to keep Ghost from putting a new hole in Dulane. Laine did as Donnelley expected, panting hard after the run and burst of adrenaline, she managed to hold her Glock steady. She kept it trained on the door, moving closer with slow, measured steps. The commotion Dulane made was enough to alert anything in a mile radius let alone the cabin. She could hear him ranting in the high pitched manic voice, calling them names from the past. She paused at his address to Ghost, calling him "Jake" and the instant violent reaction. Laine called out, keeping her distance to cover them, "Don't listen to him, he's trying to get in your heads. Ghost, please don't kill him! We need him." Ghost’s hand was white-knuckle tight around the pistol grip, his finger a hair’s breath from sending a burst of rounds through the back of Dulane’s skull. He mastered himself with a visible effort, his rage plain in his gritted teeth and tense jaw. Finally he snapped the rifle’s safety back on and stood, planting his heavy boot on Dulane’s gut as he levered himself upright. “I’ll kill you when we’re done,” he promised, looking down at Dulane. “You’ll die slow.” Laine glanced at Ghost finally pulling away from Dulane and breathed out, "Thank you." His threat set her back on edge, it was spoken without rage, in a clear and matter of fact tone that the torture and death could have been a promise to drop Dulane at the bus station. Laine felt a chill but said nothing, it was not the time nor was Ghost one to argue with. She would address it later. Laine stepped away, turning her focus back on the cabin, her gun still out as she moved forward, trying to look through any window from her vantage point. Donnelley hadn’t heard the crashing of feet from the treeline in all the excitement, and Maui’s voice almost made him flinch, “Goddamn, y’all are mean, bro.” He eyed Maui standing with the others and spat to the side, “Fucker started it.” He turned back to look at the old cabin and something quickly came to realization for him. The door looked too new. He sighted up on the door and spoke for Ghost and Laine to hear, “I wanna figure out what’s in this shack.” As they formed up on the door, Donnelley ran his hands along the edges of the frame. Feeling nothing out of the ordinary, he stepped back and retrieved his shotgun from his back. He jammed the breaching muzzle into the door at an angle and squeezed the trigger, a loud bang and the lock was shredded by the breaching shot, another loud bang and the knob was gone. Donnelley replaced his shotgun and flicked on the light of his Badger, scanning the ground for any tripwires. The last time they went into a cabin in Blackriver, Laine had almost gotten her ankles blown off. The only thing they’d need now was a septic tank. He stepped through the threshold tentatively, not keen on something reaching out to grab him or any other thing his colorful imagination could conjure up. The words echoed in his head as he saw what lay inside. [i]Laurie, Weissman…[/i] “Oh my god…” The words tumbled from Donnelley’s lips in a reedy whisper. From outside, and a mile away, he heard Dulane start to laugh again. He could only stare at what he saw inside the cabin, gawping at the sight. Donnelley listened to Dulane’s laughing only getting higher and higher, and more manic by the second. Ghost followed Tex in, steering the giggling Dulane along with a powerful hand on the back of his neck. He cleared the doorway quickly, bringing the smaller man with him; to the well-trained eye, it was clear that while his rifle was up and ready to go into action, Dulane was suspiciously between the Operator and any potential threat. He played his gaze over the contents of the cabin for a moment. “Gross,” he grunted. Laine started to follow Donnelley, her heart thumping in her chest as if she was still sprinting through the woods. Her hands trembled as she held her gun, the tightening in her gut increasing with each step. Dulane's laughter was unnerving and she was rapidly losing her cool. "Shut him up," she muttered, closing her eyes briefly to try to focus herself but in the brief darkness she saw the dead eyes and gray face, the hands of slick rotting flesh reaching out to her. Laine's eyes flew open, her breathing fast as she examined the doorway despite the two men already entering and she stepped inside, her eyes adjusting to the dim light. They hung like coats but with arms and legs, hollow eyed faces that flopped forward onto sagging chests. Two female, one male it registered in Laine's mind. It was his work, her thoughts flashed before she looked at Dulane, his jibbering laughter and felt a chill. It was the deaths that awakened the Sleeper. Laine felt herself sway, suddenly recognizing a tattoo still visible on the arm of the male. Laurie had that tattoo, she was certain, though recalling it seemed like reaching back through the fog of years. She took a step back, unable to look away from Dulane, he knew something. Laine demanded, "Who did this?" "Who fucking did this? WHO, Dulane, you fucking know who did it!" Her voice raised to a pitch that was near cracking. “Someone who made a promise,” Dulane said, locking his eerie gaze and wolf’s grin on Laine, “Just like me. The Sleeper’s been here since before you, or me, or any of us. He wanted you to come and see this, and know our faces are not our own! Our flesh and our skin are fickle things, blankets wrapping us until we shed them!” “Death is beautiful. Like a deep lake or a river,” Dulane laughed, looking at all of them in the cabin and speaking like he was addressing a congregation listening to his sermons, “We float on the surface, but there’s so much more underneath it we can’t see.” He looked at Donnelley, “Death isn’t the end of us. Our skin can be like a serpent’s. All you need is faith.” Dulane sprang away from Ghost laughing, his cuffs having fallen away again. Donnelley shouldered his rifle before arterial spray sprinkled across the room like a warm, light rain. Dulane stumbled to his left and crashed into a table, grinning with bloody pink teeth before collapsing to the floor. “Shit!” Donnelley rushed forward and clamped a hand over Dulane’s spurting gash across his neck, “Maui, Jason!” “Oh fuck!” Maui exclaimed as he and the other man barged into the cabin. The two stepped up to kneel with Donnelley, but all of them knew by the glassy eyes and slack face that it was a lost cause. Donnelley fell back on his ass, resting his arms on his knees and frowned at Dulane’s corpse. Jason unwrapped the dead man’s hand and held up a razor blade, “Found his weapon.” Laine screamed, covering her face as the blood sprayed. "No!" She stumbled back, rubbing her eyes and turned away, being shoved aside as Maui and Jason rushed in. Laine pressed herself against the wall, watching the scene unfold. They lost him, Dulane was dead and the skin suits hung there like accusations. She had been so close, he knew. Dulane had to have known and now he was a bloody heap on the floor and his knowledge of Maria's killer gone with him. Laine felt a helpless fury and pushed off the wall, rushing past Donnelley to Dulane's corpse and gave it a hard kick. "You fucking asshole! You knew!" Ghost had examined the hanging skins dispassionately, but when Dulane slipped his cuffs and darted away he swore. His rifle came up but he hesitated, not wanting to blow the man’s head off before they had the information they needed. When he saw the razor flash and the blood spray he lowered his weapon; he had cut enough throats to know that they weren’t saving him. “Shit,” he grunted. He keyed his mic. [i] “Hounddog Actual, Hounddog 2-2, Whitetail is down.” [/i] [hr] Overman hung his head, eyes screwed shut and tapping his finger along to the pulsing of his headache. It seemed to have reached a crescendo a few minutes ago and he was surprised he wasn’t spitting blood with how hard he was clenching his teeth. If he was having trouble dealing with this, he could only imagine how Ava was doing in the other Yukon. He felt for her, he did, but he didn’t dare work his tricks on her while Dave was present. The mountain man struck him as the old time religious type, superstitious and prone to flinching at the bumps in the night. He was like him once, until Afghanistan. He’d never forget. The stars would never look the same to him, make him feel the same. He felt in these mountains was the same rot and vileness older than time. Tethered together somehow, and he was tracing the lines so closely here that his body rebelled against him with the pain of it. Like holding his hand too close to fire. --- Ava shuddered, her body curled in on itself as much as she possibly could to try and ease the horrid sensation prickling along her skin and twisting her gut with nausea. The pounding in her head grew worse and worse with each beat of her heart. She gripped her fingers tightly into her hair, not sure if the wetness on her cheeks was sweat or tears; probably both. The throbbing kept getting worse, it felt as though her head was about to split open as it became harder and harder to breathe. She didn’t know how much time had passed, she couldn’t even remember where she was as the illness wracking her body seemed to grow more intense. Her eyes shut so tight she could see blotches of colors and sparks dancing across the darkness. Then the amorphous darkness ceased. Before her eyes she saw a winding tunnel of a cavern, the stone black like obsidian. The tunnel rushed past her until with almost jarring clarity, she was looking at a deep lake among the trees and mountains. The landscape was beautiful, but for some reason it felt...alien. Like something wasn’t quite right about the towering pines and the deep blue waters. The sky above the lake began to darken, fading to black with the exception of the bright yellow sun which for some reason stayed present in the center of her vision. To her numb horror, she watched the sun bulge and shift like a snake was beneath the surface. The sun broke apart into six yellow orbs, like a cell dividing. As the hallucinatory sun broke into six separate stars, a sound began to penetrate the heavy thudding of her heart and the shakiness of her breathing. A loud bestial howl, twisted with pain and madness began to resonate in her ears. Just as it felt the howl would deafen her forever, the six yellow lights turned into six yellow eyes. Then, abruptly, the vision was gone. The pain in her head cleared and suddenly she could breathe normally again. Her eyes snapped open as she gasped, pushing herself upright on the back seat of the Yukon. --- He opened his eyes as his headache vanished, the pain and pressure evaporating like someone had snapped their fingers and made it all go away. Something must have happened. He looked around at the forests surrounding him, everything was so quiet. It was as if the whole of the world had stopped and stood at attention. Frozen in place, no wind, no birds. He carefully opened his door and took a gentle step out, the dirt meeting his boots as he went to the other Yukon and knocked on the window. When it rolled down, he said, “Ava, are you okay? How are you feeling?” The window rolled down, revealing Ava sitting up in the back seat, her skin still sickly pale and shining with sweat; but her eyes were bright and alert. “I’m...okay now.” She answered with a frown. “Still a little shaky but, it doesn’t feel like I’m dying from the plague anymore.” She said, shaking her head. “What happened?” Dave gave Ava’s shoulder a squeeze, his brow creased with concern. He’d had his hand on her back throughout her episode, and had been moments from calling it in on the radio, mission be damned. Now, with her sudden recovery, he somehow felt [i]more[/i] worried. “What was that, sugar?” He asked, leaning down to look at her closely. He put his hand on her neck, then her cheek, checking for a fever, examining her eyes. Ava looked away from Overman to Dave, her hand reaching up to touch the back of his. “I-I don’t know.” She answered with a frown and a worried crease in her brow. “I...I saw things.” “Saw things?” Overman asked, his brow quirking with curiosity, “What things?” “Um,” Ava shook her head again, trying to clear away the cobwebs as she glanced over to Overman. “I saw winding tunnels of dark stone, a lake in the mountains and six yellow eyes.” She leaned herself against Dave, not caring that someone else was present. “I also heard this-this howling. This mad and tortured screeching. It felt like my ears were going to burst.” Overman’s eyes widened for a moment, breaking the air of stoicism and arrogance he had become known for before he turned around as if ashamed of it. He took a breath and turned back around, nodding at Ava, “Can you walk?” “Um,” Ava looked to Dave in concern before looking back at Overman’s tense back. “Yeah, I think I can walk. Why?” Overman didn’t answer, instead speaking into his mic, “Hounddog 3 to all. Standby for rendezvous, ETA one hour.” [hr] Laine kicked Dulane's corpse once more before backing off, her eyes darting around the room. She gazed at the hanging skin suits then back at the blood spray and broken table under the dead man. "Shit. Shit, shit," she hissed, "Get out, goddamn this is a crime scene and we've contaminated the shit out of it." Laine reached to grab Donnelley, snatching at his sleeve with a trembling hand. She turned to Maui and Ghost, her face flushed with near panic, "Get out, don't touch anything!" Ghost's eyebrow quirked behind his Oakleys. "No, it's not," he grunted. "This isn't something for civilian law enforcement. This is a Program scene. If anybody outside the Program ever sees it, it'll be because they stumbled across charred ruins on a hiking trip ten years from now." Donnelley looked to Ghost and knew that he was right. Hell, Donnelley was about to suggest they torch the place and leave it like Baughman’s cabin. But he also knew Laine wasn’t in her right mind. He laid a hand on hers and nodded outside to the others, “Laine’s right. We should get outta here,” Donnelley said, “Can’t burn this shit down with us in it.” He started for the entrance, lightly pulling for Laine to follow, “Come on. Have a smoke or something.” "No," Laine pulled away, "We have to take them with us at least, they..." She was looking at the skins, at what was left of Weissman, Laurie, and the smaller dark haired remains that she was certain was Maria. Her throat tightened and she hated the tears that threatened. She was angry not sad, her fists tight at her side, the emotions betraying her. "This is evidence, these were people. That bastard..." she said, her voice trembling and she pressed her lips tight together. The killer had been here, he must have stayed here and took his time. Maybe even killed here and it was going to be destroyed. "Fuck this," she whispered harshly, "This isn't how...why am I even here?" She turned to the men, looking over their tactical gear and weapons. At Donnelley in his tiger cammo, his war gear, "Why the fuck do you need me, if this is how it is? Just destroy everything and learn nothing." “We’ll search the damn place first.” Donnelley retorted, “I’m not leavin’ here until the remains of my goddamn people are given a burial.” Donnelley pursed his lips, “And this [i]is[/i] how things are. This is how we do things, Laine, we don’t exist right now.” He said, pointing to the hanging skins, “This shit is goin’ to keep happenin’ if we play by the goddamn rules. I spent two years in Dalhart seein’ the same junkies and whores beat their kids and their wives a few months after I put them away.” “We’re makin’ a difference. And [i]it matters.[/i] If you don’t want to help search and scuttle,” Donnelley quieted his voice again, “Get out. Have a fuckin’ smoke outside with the others and pretend you never saw us burn this fuckin’ place to the ground.” He regarded Laine for a moment, his own fire burning deep in his eyes before he turned away from her to Ghost, “Let’s try to find somethin’ and then torch this shit.” Laine felt her teeth grind then she snapped, "Fuck you and your smoke. I'll handle the goddamn search. I don't need your thugs destroying shit before I can look at it." Her face flushed and she dug into her pocket for the latex gloves she kept out of habit. Her heart was pounding and her head felt light, the loss of her temper was rare enough and she almost never showed it to work associates. Laine began to take down the skins, gently with trembling hands. "I need something to put them in," she said, not turning around. "Watch your fucking mouth." There was an edge to Ghost's voice. He pointed a gloved finger at her. "We're professionals. Thugs wouldn't have kept your ass alive this long, girl." He turned and stalked from the cabin, glaring at Tex from behind his shades as he passed. "This is why I don't work with amateurs." Donnelley watched Ghost leave, eyes tracking his back as it disappeared past the walls of the cabin. He looked at Laine, struggling with the skins and silently cursed to himself. “Hounddog 3 to all, standby for rendezvous. ETA one hour.” Overman’s voice came over the team channel. Donnelley rolled his eyes. A bit late for the magician to come back. He followed Ghost outside and found Foster talking with Poker, butting into their conversation and fixing Foster with a hard stare. “CORAL NOMAD.” Donnelley said, “We’re searchin’ through the cabin for further evidence and you’re callin’ in CORAL NOMAD to take them to Langley or some other fuckin’ Blacksite to go over.” Foster pursed his lips, quirking an eyebrow at Donnelley before he shrugged, “Fine.” Donnelley stuck a finger in Poker’s face, “You get your fuckin’ team to help clean this mess up before we leave this place smolderin’.” Donnelley said, raising his voice so Ghost could hear too, “And I don’t give a goddamn shit what anyone thinks about it. This is a Program scene and we need to sanitize it.” Queen had been smoking, his gaze scanning the woods around the cabin with his hand resting on the Uzi. The words CORAL NOMAD caught his attention and he tossed the half smoked Kool onto the ground and crushed it out with the heel of his boot. With the weight of reluctance, Queen went towards the cabin to assist. Whatever was in there with Dulane's corpse he was not eager to find out. The skins caught his attention once he entered, even the sight of Laine's backside as she reached to bring them down was not enough distraction. "Christ," he muttered, his hand going to his pocket and he rolled the vial of coke in the plastic bag around against his fingers. The hard shape of pills could be felt and his craving to vanish into that fog grabbed at him. Laine turned to look over her shoulder, she had already laid out what was left of Laurie on the couch. To Queen's eyes it looked like the man had just melted into the sofa, like some dark Dali painting. "I need body bags or something, I'm not folding them up to put in a shoe box," she snapped as she went back to untangling the blond hair of the dead Airman from the wire the dried skin was hung on. "Yeah, sure...I'm here to help," Queen assured her as he looked around, the blood spray from Dulane already tacky and congealing. Anything to keep from having to look at the skins. Donnelley stood in the doorway and watched them work, fingers dug under his plate carrier as he let his rifle hang off its sling. The cabin was bare, only the essentials needed to carry out whatever backwoods serial killing that needed doing. He glanced at the skins and swallowed audibly before tearing his eyes away from them and to the other things in the room. What interested him the most was the stainless steel work table. It was clean, no blood anywhere he could see. He thought about investigating further, but the longer he stayed in the cabin the more he wanted to break something in it. He reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose and rub his forehead, stepping out to have his own smoke. He lit up, back turned to the cabin and eyes passively scanning through the woods. They’d have to burn the place, they’d have to deal with the skins, with Dulane. They hadn’t even touched the mines, and why did Dulane even come here? “The fuck’s your deal, man?” He muttered to himself, pondering how and why Dulane knew this place. Queen made a search for something, anything, to put the skins in to transport them. Maui had no body bags such was his confidence in his team. He went back into the cabin, into the bedroom. He looked over the cot, the blanket on it and hesitated, the ingrained habit not to disturb a crime scene hard to break. The killer had slept here, probably jerked off onto this blanket Queen thought then he turned away, looking for something less personal and less full of DNA to transport the dead remains. He looked under the rickety nightstand and found a half empty box of Glad trash bags. Asshole couldn't even buy Hefty for this job. Queen paused in front of the wardrobe but left it alone, first thing was to take care of the dead and they were ill prepared. He took another look around, his hand finding its way to his pocket. After a little fumbling he found a few tabs of Xanax and dry swallowed one. When he returned to the main room he saw Laine standing still beside the surgical table, the skin suit with blonde hair still in her hands. His own skin crawled at the sight but he kept his upbeat tone. "Found something you can use, it ain't the best but it's something to get them covered," Queen announced, setting the box of garbage bags on the surgical table. Laine jerked her head, looking at Queen as if he had spoken another language. Then she blinked, shaking her head slightly, "I'll make do. Can you find some scissors and tape?" "Right, Maui probably has that," he announced, then turned on his heel to saunter out of the cabin, already feeling some of the headiness of the pills. Laine gently laid the remains of the young woman on the table. There had been no love lost between them when Weissman was alive but Laine felt a deep sadness for her loss, especially to become a victim of that monster. As she waited Laine began to examine the table, the box of small latex gloves surprised her. She had assumed him to be at least average size if not larger to have the strength to subdue but if drugs were used then there was no need for brute strength. She turned the box over and looked at it. A small man or maybe even a woman. Laine set it down and continued looking around, now feeling herself settle into investigation mode. The stainless steel table was clean, not just clean but wiped down and no trace of fingerprints or even a smudge was left. Nor blood, even old dried blood could be seen. She wished for some Luminol to expose what she could not see with her eyes but Laine might as well wish for a whole CSI team. She was on her own and with limited time. No visible blood present in such a wound as flaying a person would make, they were likely drained of blood somewhere else. Exsanguination. The word always sounded so medieval to her. And the idea of flaying a person was just as barbaric, something pagan and primeval. Something to...[I]awaken the Sleeper[/I]. Laine shook her head to rid herself of Dulane's voice cackling in her memories. Focus. She touched the chain around her neck, where it vanished below the collar of her shirt. The table was very clean and there had to be cleaners around but she saw nothing by the table. The tools left out were spotless and sharp, very sharp. A surgeon's set of tools with different sized scalpels, forceps, and delicate scissors. Laine glanced at the box of small latex gloves, the chances are the suspect wore them through the whole process but there was a chance. She thought about the trash bags and there had to be cleaners, the chance the suspect used them without gloves was slim. She stepped away from the table when Queen entered the room again. He had a roll of duct tape and a pair of scissors from a first aid kit. He started opening trash bags, cutting and taping them together to make what looked like poor man's garment bags. "Where did you find those garbage bags?" He looked up from his work, then shrugged, "Bedroom, by the nightstand." She turned and entered the bedroom, pausing at the doorway to just observe. Laine doubted the cleaners would be in here but there was a draw to the space, it's where the suspect took his private moments. He slept in that very bed, it would have hairs no doubt and maybe finger prints on whatever he touched. She would need to go over this room closely before the cabin was torched. Again she swore to herself at the absence of a CSI team or even just a kit to collect samples. Laine took out her phone and snapped a few photos, then came out and did the same of the table and the last skin to be removed. Maria, she thought, though DNA would have to confirm it. Samples needed to be taken of all of them, more kits she did not have. "Hey, Queen," Laine said, "Take your time with those. I don't want them ripping while we transport them." As the others went about the task of bagging the skins and sucking up their feelings, Ghost prowled the cabin. For the most part it was thoroughly uninteresting; evidence, motive, these were things investigators looked for. Ghost wasn’t an investigator. He was a killer. With nothing to kill, he was getting bored. A tall wardrobe in the corner of the room caught his eye and he closed on it, footsteps slowing, adopting that heel-to-toe walk used to suppress noise while an Operator got into position. Everything on his gear that could click, clank, or rattle had already been taped down; the footwork was all that was left. He reached the wardrobe and stepped to one side, raising his rifle and bracing it tight against his shoulder one-handed. Then he ripped open the door, simultaneously flipping the selector to [i]auto[/i]. With his nerves on edge, Ghost very nearly put a neat burst through a set of surgical scrubs that hung within the wardrobe. “At least the guy was hygiene conscious,” he grunted, prodding at the outfit with his rifle as though expecting an attack. Trashbags and a cardboard box at the bottom drew his attention and he gave the box a kick. “Hey! I found some shit!” He bellowed, looking towards the door before backing off. Donnelley could hear Ghost’s growl of a yell from outside, turning around to look at the cabin and letting streams of smoke from his nostrils. He and Poker looked at each other, flicked their cigarettes away and found their way inside to where Ghost was standing in front of a wardrobe. “Clothes.” Poker said, unimpressed. “Surgery scrubs.” Donnelley muttered, glancing at Poker’s layman’s terms. “Steel table outside and surgical tools. Whoever has me-time here has experience. This ain’t no hunter, it’s a fuckin’ doctor.” “What’s that?” Poker said, tapping the toe of his boot against the cardboard box at the bottom of the wardrobe, next to a garbage bag. "Well I haven't opened it, so I know as much as you do," Ghost growled, his tone surly. He was getting bored. "Could be a bomb. Or jack-off pictures of his victims. You wanna open it, be my guest. I'm going outside first." He turned and headed for the door, not terribly eager to be in the blast radius if it was, in fact, a trap. Poker watched him go, Then looked at Donnelley. They both shrugged, Donnelley going for the box and checking for trip-wires or anything of the like. The Cartel House in Juarez flashed in his mind and he remembered how long it took him to get another man’s gut fluids out of his damn uniform. Sicarios were almost as bad as the fucking Taliban. Probably would take a little longer to get his own fluids out of his clothes, he thought, smirking to himself in a macabre fashion. Feeling none, he carefully teased the box out of its place and onto the floor of the cabin. Laine stepped into the room, her attention focused on the wardrobe. The mention of scrubs and the bag. "I need to see what's in that box," she said, taking a picture of the scrubs. As Ghost left, she stayed and watched Donnelley for a moment. The memory of the other cabin and the shotgun, the other hidden box. Laine wanted to see it, exactly how it looked before it got disturbed and shuffled around. The cabin was old and spare but there was a neatness to it, orderly and clean. Nothing extraneous, nothing not needed for the job of removing the skin from a body. At least they had been dead when it happened, that was something. The scrubs and the tools and the air of professional clinical cleanliness and order made her reevaluate her first thought that he might be a hunter and now she could narrow the scope to suspects within the medical field. “Explains the drugs,” Donnelley looked over to Laine, “Propofol and Midazolam. One thing to drug them up with roofies or Xanax, but…” Donnelley shook his head, placing his fingers around the lid of the box, “Step back.” When they did, Donnelley lifted the lid of the box to reveal something less explosive. Arranged in Manila folders and accordion binders were some documents. There was also a leather bound notebook and another book, thick and worn. “Baughman all over again.” Donnelley muttered. He took a Manila folder from the box, slowly lifting it out to reveal it to be stamped with a red [i]Official Eyes Only.[/i] That was never a good sign. The strangeness just got deeper as he stared at the words and the folder. He wondered if he should peek at it, the curiosity digging its nails into his hands. He flipped the folder open and the first page had an official header. [i]TS//SCI//CIA//MJ12//NOFORN[/i] He slapped it shut before he could read any further and rubbed at his eyes, “Fuck me.” He said, “This is official. I don’t know what’s going on with this goddamn cabin.” "Yes, the rare pharmacy he kept," she agreed, stepping back until just behind the door frame. When she saw him pull only folders out, Laine came forward. She reached for it like a fat kid going for birthday cake. "Let me see, what kind of official? Like... program official?" Laine looked with naked curiosity at the folder in his hand. She took the leather bound notebook out of the box, then looked at the spine of the book, reading the title. [I]The Gospel of Leng[/I]. Laine opened it, flipping past the title page and looked at the strange script it was printed in though the scribbled notes in the margins were in English. "Jesus walked East, seeking wisdom and the..." She paused, the handwriting smeared and hard to read. Closing the book she tucked it back into the box, "We'll need a translator for that. What was in the folder?" “Some pretty official documents. They’re classified.” Donnelley glanced at Laine, “And we ain’t got the clearance.” Donnelley replaced the lid and hefted the box up in his arms, surprisingly heavy for a bunch of papers. Some analyst back at Program HQ would have fun with these, that’s for sure. Maybe even their own Ava if they were allowed the clearance to view these. Part of him didn’t even want to ask. The tug of curiosity, the hunger for the truth about this case wanted him to keep his teeth together about those files. “I’m goin’ to take these outside. Check what’s in that bag.” “Roger.” Poker nodded. “Laine, you want to help me outside?” He asked, raising his brows and glancing down at the box, hoping she got the message he wanted to be a nosy little shit and break the law by reading whatever files these were. Laine caught his eye for a moment and glanced down at the notebook still unopened in her arms. She nodded, casually placing it on top of the box he carried. "Yeah, I need a smoke anyway," she replied in a tired voice, reaching into her pocket for the Djarums as she followed Donnelley out. The excitement coursed through her, she wanted to read everything she could in that box. The fact this person had classified files made her think of Baughman, his attempt to bring back his wife that ended in a zombie trapped in a septic tank. Donnelley went through the cabin and out the front without meeting anyone’s eyes. He set down the box at the side of the cabin away from the rest of his team and lifted the lid, taking the file he’d read and flipping it open. His eyes flitted across the page. His brows knitted together tighter as he read on. How had the killer gotten their hands on these? The more he read, the less he could believe. This was a report on experiments during the 50’s and 60’s conducted by the CIA and another government organization named Majestic 12. MK-Ultra, psychics, telekinesis, remote viewing. It kept making mentions of Subject Virginia, how she had been their most successful subject. He swallowed and shut the manila folder. These were unredacted original case files. There was absolutely no way anyone without top level clearance could get these. He handed the folder over to Laine and stood, retrieving a cigarette from his pack in one of his pouches and lighting up. He pulled his flask from another pouch and took a couple swigs, “That’s top level classified information, Laine.” He said, “This is… this goes deeper than just a backwoods murderer.” Laine smoked as she read, the subjects often only familiar to her from Youtube videos about some conspiracy. Things she had mostly waived off as wild imagination, paranoid thoughts of the mentally ill. And yet, here it was in her hand. There it had been in the septic tank and in the questions in the depths of Langley. It was there, in black and white. "No way these are fakes?" She asked, the devil's advocate. "Maybe he made them up for some reason... paranoid sch..." Laine did not finish the word, it was ridiculous and she knew it. No scattered schizophrenic brain would produce such reports, they were written by professionals. Her mind grasped for reason and there was one. Like Baughman, who had been with the program for decades. Like some who fought monsters too long. She looked at Donnelley, "Maybe he's with the Program or had been?" Laine held her hand out for the flask. He handed it over, “Should we tell Foster?” He asked, feeling sheepish. He was supposed to be the one making decisions, the Team Lead, “I think we should hold onto these. Nobody who has these works outside our sphere.” He said it outright, “I don’t trust anyone outside UMBRA with this. He’s rogue, this fuckin’ dude.” Laine put the flask to her lips, holding it there for a beat before taking a sip. "No," she said, then looked at him. "I don't think we should tell him. Not yet." She handed back his flask, the spicy flavor of cloves blending with the whiskey taste still on her tongue as she took a drag. "Maybe I'm out of line," Laine said, "But you know we have a leak. I'm not accusing anyone and I'm sure you have every reason to trust him but personally, I think that we play this hand very close." Donnelley tipped the flask to his lips, then nodded, capping it up, “Agreed.” [hr] Overman set foot into the clearing the cabin was situated in and scanned the area around him with narrowed eyes. They couldn’t find the cabin fast enough, since his symptoms had vanished unexplainably, he needed to know what was happening at the cabin. Foster sided up with him, “What’s the problem?” “Where is he?” Overman said, still looking around the area. Foster gestured towards the body on the ground, draped over with garbage bags. Overman nodded and wasted no time in going towards the body and kneeling next to it. “Damn it.” He muttered. Donnelley waved down Dave and Ava, giving the woman a smile when he saw her, “How’re you? Better?” Ava was staring over at the shape beneath the plastic bags, her mind reeling for a moment as she processed what she was seeing. After a moment, some part of her realized Donnelley had just spoken to her and she snapped out the trance she’d been in. “Oh, hi, I’m feeling much better.” She answered with a confused frown, focusing on Donnelley so she didn’t stare at the dead body that was 20 feet from her. “Is everyone alright?” She asked, a crease of concern forming on her brow. “I saw the other Yukon and Dave told me what happened plus…” She trailed off and glanced back over to Dulane’s body. Dave stepped closer to Ava, his rifle at an easy ready. He knew it was her first time seeing a body, and he put a hand on her shoulder and gave it a quick squeeze. “So what happened with him?” He jerked his head at Dulane’s carcass, lip curling a moment. He found it hard to feel any sort of sympathy for him. Enough so that he hadn’t bothered, honestly. Dave spotted the skull-masked Ghost haunting the shadow of the cabin, caught his eye, and gave him a nod of acknowledgement, then shrugged internally when the Operator simply gave him a stare in return. He’d thought he had made headway at Langley, but apparently until he had racked up a bodycount the big man simply considered him a potential burden. “Suicide.” Donnelley said, simply, “Rest of us are still kickin’.” He clucked his tongue and thrust his thumb over his shoulder to the cabin, looking at Dave, “Made it in time for the bonfire. You bring fireworks?” Queen came out of the cabin, holding what looked like a stack of cheap garment bags in his arms. He spotted Ava's bright hair and grinned, the Xanax holding him in a haze. Overman and Dave were there, the latter hovering over the petite woman. "Howdy, bout time y'all made it," Queen drawled, "Whattya think of this nice little place?" With a sly grin he turned to Dave, "Remind you of home?" “Oh sure,” Dave said, turning up his own drawl and eyeing the corpses. “Jus’ like home. Now if only we had a trailer or two, right?” Queen just smiled then shifted the bags he held, looking over the man, "Might be an improvement." He stepped away, going over to the covered corpse of Dulane and lay the flat makeshift bags beside it. Standing over the dead, he fished out a cigarette and lit up, waiting for the next move Foster would order. Donnelley stepped up next to him just as he lit his own. It seemed chainsmoking was the order of the day. Speaking of reasons to chain smoke, Foster stepped up to the two of them, but his eyes glued to Donnelley made it known that he only came for the one. “CORAL NOMAD came through. They’re parked at Eastern West Virginia Regional Airport in the 167th Airlift Wing’s section.” Foster said, “They only want the assets, no agents allowed onboard.” “Fair ‘nough, ETA?” Donnelley asked. “They asked me the same, they’re probably already waiting. Clock’s ticking.” Foster about-faced and stalked off. “What about the remains?” Donnelley called after him. “Evidence.” Foster said back. “And we’re leaving none here when we leave. Hurry up.” Donnelley hissed a swear under his breath and took a long drag off his freshly lit cigarette before ashed it out and tucked the butt behind his ear. He whistled loudly to get everyone’s attention, speaking loud and clear as they turned their eyes to him, “Alright, people, here’s the situation. Double-time on everything, snatch everything we can and we’re out of here in the next hour.” Laine emerged once more from the cabin, holding the garbage bag in front of her body, not letting it touch her. The box of files had been stashed by Donnelley, the remains of the bodies stored albeit a haphazard way and she collected what she could. Laine wrapped the blanket in another garbage bag, labeling it with white medical tape and a pen. Another trash bag held the tools and scrubs, labeled as well. But the bag she held was from the wardrobe and she had not opened it yet. She set it on the ground, away from the bodies and in a patch of sunlight. Laine carefully opened the bag with the first aid scissors and peeled it open, the glimpse of blue fabric and dark stains caught her breath. With gloved hands, Laine gently began to pull the fabric apart. The clothing was clearly used scrubs, balled up and wrinkled with what looked like possible dried blood. As she crouched working on untangling the wadded up clothing and laying them on the grass with an internal wince. But they all had to make do, and it was still a cleaner crime scene than the sloppy LAPD work she had been subjected to during her time as a field agent. One shirt and pants laid out and she worked on what appeared to be another set. For all the killer's neatness this was out of the ordinary, to stash dirty clothing rather than wash or dispose of it immediately. Maybe he saved them for a reason, maybe to burn or... Her thoughts stopped as she held up the other scrub shirt. It was much smaller and the box of size small latex gloves flashed through her mind. Laine rolled the implications around in her mind, she had been wrong on a few different things in her original profile, important details like the possible sex and number of suspects and the possible occupation. She sank back on her heels, sighing heavily at the discovery and looked down at the small scrub top. Laine would need to scrap the original profile and start again based on the new evidence. It was not the first time but it had been awhile since she had been so wrong. Ava wandered away from the edge of the clearing, her eyes darting to where Overman was standing with Foster and Donnelley, over the body of Dulane. She wanted to go over and ask the mysterious man what her sickness had been, but for some reason she couldn’t make herself go near the deceased man. He had been a murdering madman, but he had been living and breathing the last time she saw him. Now he just lay still beneath a mishmash of garbage bags. She shivered and decided to catch Overman when he wasn’t standing over Dulane’s body. Her attention fell on Laine, spreading items of clothing out on the ground. Curious and glad to see the woman alright she headed over to her. As she studied her she frowned, noticing the line of tension in her shoulders and the cords of the back of her neck were tight. She supposed she couldn’t blame her, their lead witness had killed himself and taken whatever secrets he might have held to his grave. Or maybe not if they had been able to find this cabin, it might hold some information. Her eyes flickered over the shack when a large shape lurking in the shadow caught her eye. She jumped, her hand twitching toward her gun holstered at her hip as she registered a large man in a skeletal mask standing and watching them. A moment later she recognized the build, the gear and the Oakleys and she relaxed, realizing that it was only Ghost. She pressed a hand to her chest to calm herself down, gave the quiet operator a friendly wave and joined Laine’s side. “Hey.” She greeted, putting on her best friendly smile. “Look, I’m not car sick anymore.” She said, holding out her arms slightly and inflecting a light tone to help relieve some of Laine’s stress. Laine glanced up at the sudden shadow thrown by Ava as she approached. It was normal at least, not like whatever had been in Dulane's. There was a sudden prickling along the back of her neck when a little voice asked in her mind, where was that thing now? She shook it away when Ava spoke, raising her brows and failed at a smile, "That's wonderful, it must have been misery." Laine looked back at the stained crumpled top and then held it up, standing as she did. Holding it out towards Ava in a gesture reminiscent of two women clothes shopping and judging what might look best on them. "Very small figure, had to be a woman," Laine muttered, then shook her head again, looking at the petite redhead. "Well...looks like we have a two for one deal." Ava furrowed her eyebrows in confusion, eyeing the shirt and then looking to Laine. “What is that?” She asked with a frown. Laine breathed out heavily, "Ah, you know it's the latest from Armature, what a find right?" She folded over the scrubs shirt and set on the rest, then gave Ava an apologetic smile, "Sorry. It's evidence is what it is. Blood stained scrubs, two sets in different sizes. I was completely fucking wrong about who the suspect might be." Ava perked up and then paled a moment later. “Oh, those are the killers?” She asked, her eyes landing on the cabin. “This...this is their cabin?” Laine gave her a concerned but critical look then nodded, "They were here, this was their work space, so to speak. We found evidence enough of what they were doing." She gestured at the building with gloved hands, "Dulane led us up here, he ran and somehow kept getting out of his cuffs that slippery little... anyway, he was desperate to get in and once he did he cut his own throat." Laine pulled her gaze from the cabin and looked at Ava, "I don't understand what he was or what had a hold of him but I think something didn't want him to talk or maybe he feared spilling information. I don't know, he was raving the whole time." Ava frowned, brushing a hand through her hair and playing with one of the curls. “I wonder...I got better seemingly at random, but…” She looked over to Dulane and then her eyes landed on Overman. “It might be weird but, maybe if we know the times...Is it possible that Dulane dying is what made me feel better? Like he was affecting me somehow?” Laine knelt to repack the dirty scrubs in a new garbage bag when Ava mentioned feeling better all of a sudden. She glanced up then over at the still form of the makeshift body bag. "I didn't check the time but..." She shifted her gaze, her expression suddenly uncomfortable. Without looking at Ava she said, "I saw something weird when they brought him out. Dulane." Laine taped a label across the bag, a date and set of numbers and letters on it that would match the other bags. "His shadow...was strange," she said after a weighted pause, her voice low as if embarrassed she might be overheard. Ava blinked and her frown deepened with concern. “Strange as in how?” She asked. Laine gripped the bag and glanced aside then at her, "I saw things squirming in the shadow, like tentacles or something. It was just a moment but I know I saw it, in the lights of the parking lot otherwise it would have been too dark to throw any shadows." “I believe you.” Ava said without hesitation. She smiled reassuringly. “I don’t know what it could be, but I believe you.” "Whatever it was, it wasn't good," Laine said, "Maybe it had something to do with him going suicidal, like some parasite controlling him. I don't know, but I think we need to talk to Overman. He's holding back." Ava glanced over to the mysterious man and frowned at him. “Yeah, I have my own questions I’d like answered.” Queen watched the pair of women over the last bag, the stained clothing brought out. The trip to the mountains had been a disaster before they even reached the mine. He took a long lazy drag from the Kool then turned to Donnelley, "So, you alright?" “I’m goin’ to need a drink or seven after we get out of here.” Donnelley sucked in a drag off his cigarette and blew it out slowly, “Ask me after that. What’re you doin’ after this?” Queen considered the question for a long moment, then replied, "Miami, check in at the office. See what's shakin' but first prolly Vegas or something, get laid and waste some money. You should come with me, unless you ain't about hanging with THUNDER no more." He gave Donnelley a wink, making a point to look back at the women now walking away. His gaze lingered on their asses then he looked back up, "Daddy Donnelley got his little chicks to watch after." Donnelley snorted, shrugging, “They're adults,” he took a drag off his cigarette and blew it out, “They’ll be fine without me for a bit. I’m sure they won’t miss me when I’m in Vegas with you and that stone-faced weirdo over there.” “‘Least I can get drunk and high then.” He chuckled, “I took a nip in front of Laurie even once he’d probably roll his eyes at me. Fuckin’ Weissman was as big a dick as me. Wouldn’t stop callin’ me old man and shit.” The smile faded a tad, more and more as the silence dragged on. You never got used to it. You could get used to all kinds of pain, but knowing you’ll never talk to someone ever again, or see them hanging around. That’s a special kind. “Fuck, man.” Donnelley rubbed a hand over his face and took a few long drags off his cigarette, “Fuck. Fuckin’ shit.” Queen put a hand on Donnelley's shoulder, cigarette smoldering between his fingers as he gave him a firm squeeze. He would have pulled him into an embrace but far too many eyes were around so the quick companionable gesture would have to do. He leaned in towards him, lowering his voice, "It is fucking shit." He shook his head, “We’ll drink to them in Vegas. And to each other.” He smiled at Queen, “The trio rides again, I guess.” He chuckled at the cheesy line, “Or will be. Dependin’ on Foster givin’ us some time off soon.” [hr] “We just lost our only living link to Blackriver.” Foster shook his head and rubbed at his face as he stood. Overman was still staring down at Dulane’s body, but he spoke to Foster, “He died in your custody. That isn’t going to look good.” The two of them stood in silence. Foster wasn’t oblivious to that. This case was not going well for UMBRA, and the Program’s patience wasn’t known for being the thickest. The interviews were evidence of that. Foster shoved his hands in his pockets and sighed, turning away from Dulane, “Any magic tricks? Should we hold a seance?” Foster asked. “Bringing back the dead is trickier than that. What I do isn’t exactly a science.” Overman pursed his lips at Foster. Laine approached the men with the last bag of evidence in her arms. She caught the last part of what Overman said and shot a hard, curious look at him. "You know about that?" She asked, interrupting their conversation about bringing people back from the dead. "I wouldn't advise it. Seems messy." She set the bag down, her hands now resting in her hips as she kept her gaze on Overman. "I need to know something about what happened with Dulane. Something I saw when they brought him out of the prison." Laine tried to keep her tough FBI exterior but the hesitation flickered across her features. "It seems like your realm of expertise. It was only a moment under the parking lot lights. Might have just been a trick of those lights but I saw something in his shadow, like separate yet part of him. Squirming...like snakes or tentacles." She felt her face start to heat up, any FBI agent would have laughed and made an X Files joke and part of her expected it even from these men. “So did I.” Overman said simply, “It happened.” He gestured to the body, “Now he’s dead.” Laine stayed silent for a few breathed, looking at Dulane's bagged corpse. "Do you think it did it?" She glanced back at Overman with sharp green eyes, the gun fight coming to mind. The first shot fired. "Do you think he did this or something else made him kill himself? He escaped his cuffs a couple times, he ran with a damn hood over his head without hitting a tree and went right to the cabin. What the hell is going on?" “Something bigger than just a backwoods killer. But we knew that when Deputies started shooting at us, didn’t we?” Overman pursed his lips, shrugged, “The motive of this Sleeper is to have people Come and See, isn’t it? It wouldn’t be much to have its conduit in this plane silence itself. Or perhaps it was mocking, a taunt.” He held his chin, looking pensively at Dulane, “Either way, he was troubled by what he saw in those mines. I think he just couldn’t take sharing his head anymore.” He quirked a brow and looked to Laine, “Would you have?” Laine shook her head slightly, then glanced away as Ava approached. She stepped back, giving her teammate room to speak with Overman. She stayed close, curious if anything the young woman experienced tied into Dulane Ava kept her eyes on Laine and Overman, fighting to not stare at the body at their feet and ignore the turning in her stomach. With Dave at her side, a source of unwavering comfort and support, she felt a little firmer in approaching the mysterious Gray Man. She caught the tail end of the conversation and swallowed past the lump forming in her throat. She nodded to Laine and stopped a few feet from Overman, trying to ignore the tangy metallic scent of blood coming from the body bag. It unnerved her that it was starting to become a familiar smell. “Sorry to interrupt, but I had some questions.” She said to Overman, motioning her hand to Dulane. “Possibly related to...whatever happened to him.” “Yes.” Overman looked at Ava, standing at his full height and slid his hands into his pockets, “That is my answer. You’re not the only one, Miss Moore. It is very possibly related to whatever happened to him.” He looked at her, his face not changing a hair towards anything other than boredom, “Unless you had something on your mind, now that it’s clear?” For some reason, his tone and expression made a small spark of frustration flare in her chest. She clamped down on it and said, “What were the visions I had? The ones I told you about after I felt better?” She waved her hand slightly. “I heard a tortured, shrieking howl, like a dying animal. Was it Dulane dying? And why would I feel better after he died? What was he doing to cause an unexplained sickness?” Overman looked to Foster, who locked eyes with Overman and then turned to Ava, “Well, he didn’t die screaming.” Foster said, “At least not like that.” Overman shrugged, “I just don’t know. I know it wasn’t Dulane. From his file, everything I’d heard, he wasn’t the type.” Overman pursed his lips and nodded at Laine, “It was most likely his shadow. Or what was in it. Dulane made a promise.” Overman nodded, narrowing his eyes at the cabin, “He kept it.” [hr] The weight of the classified files was perhaps the heaviest to Donnelley, nestled in his assault pack among the loose ammo and rations. He did his best to keep himself composed and not feel like at any moment Foster or someone else would catch him on their hours long trip to the airport. They’d cut about 30 minutes off the trip by speeding along as best they could, turning more than a few heads with the bullet-riddled Yukon. At one point, they’d been pulled over, but after the State Trooper was made aware of Special Agents Davidson and Forrest they gave them an escort straight to the airport. The 167th wasn’t hard to find, and the two Yukons were beside the runway now, UMBRA and THUNDER patiently waiting as Donnelley and Foster secured the asset recovery with the CORAL NOMAD team’s OIC. They hardly looked out of place here, but even so, the exchange was quick. The skins and Dulane’s body would be handled by CORAL NOMAD’s research team assigned to this flight. Donnelley and Foster followed them back to the Yukons, opening the back of one to reveal the trash bags for the skins, and Dulane under them. “Is that him?” One of the researchers asked. “Sure is.” Donnelley nodded, “You need to verify ID?” “Uh Huh.” The researcher said, pulling out a camera from his pack, “Go ahead.” Donnelley grabbed the trash bags concealing Dulane’s body and pulled a section down that was covering his face. The researcher snapped a quick photo, “Thank…” the masked scientist stopped dead, rubbed his eyes, and then squinted back at the camera’s screen, “You.” Donnelley furrowed his brows at the researcher, but the man only hurried off to get one of his teammates to help him load Dulane in the Blackhawk the CORAL NOMAD team was using. When everything was loaded in the helicopter, it whirred to life, throwing a whirlwind in Donnelley and his team’s faces. Before long, it took off from the ground and off it went. Donnelley and Foster watched it go as they stood with each other. “CORAL NOMAD assets are going to scan that area of Blackriver we were in. We still never got to those mines.” Foster pursed his lips, “Hopefully in a week, we’ll get word back that they found something for us to go after.” Donnelley nodded, watching the Blackhawk steadily shrink in the distance, “Hopefully.” Donnelley turned to Foster, “Any word about the BLACKBOX?” “Invitation still stands.” Foster said. “But you should go sooner than later. It’s not going to be open forever.” “I’ll tell my guys.” Donnelley wasted no time in turning away and walking towards UMBRA. They looked worse for wear even though they’d only been out a single night. He knew they barely had any time to sleep before the outing, and the weight of his own eyelids told him sleep would be a must. “Alright, people, everythin’s taken care of seems like. It’ll be a week before we’re out in Virginia again to follow the mine lead. Let’s bunk somewhere, get some rest.” He yawned, punctuating his own words, “I still want to put some work in and follow what leads we got. Which means we’re going to the BLACKBOX soon.” Donnelley put his hands on his hips, “But for now, we’ll lay low, get some shut-eye.”