>APPALACHIAN MOUNTAINS>BLACKRIVER COUNTY, WEST VIRGINIA>0538HRS...///Laine had the GPS that Donnelly had left in the car and she entered the address that was on the paper, following it out of town and into the hills. She smoked the rest of her cigarette, the scent of burning cloves filling the car until she put down the window, the cool night air whipping the smoke out.
Serena took the back seat again on the way to the cabin, hoping that Laurie would finally give her ears a break. Besides, Doctor Laine seemed more qualified to answer the sort of questions he was asking.
She didn’t know shit. She had been up since six o’clock the previous morning, and was close to running on fumes. She had tried to get a bit of rest in the lull back at the safehouse but she couldn’t fall asleep. Hopefully Laurie would chew on
Doc’s ear for a while. She leaned her head back against the rest as the sweet smell of cloves and fresh mountain air were a welcome change from the streets of Los Angeles. The sky was actually blue here, free from the brown tinge of smog. Her head swayed slightly back and forth with the curves of the mountain highway.
Laurie sat in the car and
tried to keep quiet. He played with his Rubik's cube solving it a couple of times with a feint muttering under his breath. Halfway through the third or fourth go he violently dropped the toy and looked between his two comrades. With all that shit about the black stone and cannibals Laurie only got blue balls from Joseph's intervention, and them blue balls needed draining. "Alright, be straight with me. What is this bullshit about some big rock and cannibal chihuahuas, you're all fucking with me right?"
Serena’s eyelids slid slightly open at the mention of
cannibal chihuahuas and smirked, only feeling a little sympathetic for Dr. Laine. Her head still cradled by the headrest and swaying. She wasn’t about to go digging in that box again. Her decision to sit in the back was a solid move.
Laine glanced over at him, then looked back at the road. "I take it we all have seen something strange. Unexplainable. That's the only reason I could see all of us brought together, otherwise why just pull random people from the FBI, military, LAPD, and national park service? Yes, I saw something I can't explain, I simple terms it was a black stone that was the site of a brutal murder of a missing woman."
She took a drag on the clove cigarette, down to the filter before dropping it in a near empty water bottle in the cup holder. "In Olympia National Park, a ranger found her. He called the local FBI. I was already in Seattle working on the profile of the kidnapper, so I went along."
Laine was quiet for a moment, then added, "There was something there in the woods with us, even that ranger was spooked. And it sure as hell wasn't Sasquatch. That stone...blacker than anything...no reflection or light hitting it made a change in the surface. The blood was nearly completely drained from Sofie Childress, she was gutted and splayed open. Pieces were missing, butchered like a hog."
Her eyes flickered at the rearview mirror, looking at Laine before returning to the winding rural highway. "I've seen a lot doing what I do, but never have I felt the menace I felt that day. The crime scene team felt it, the ranger. Agent Chan, he had been the lead. He ate a bullet two days later. He was the one who spent the most time examining the body
in situ."
She fell silent, the green of the trees rushing past the car in a blur and she said quietly, "Ranger Mathieu, is that enough explanation to why I need answers?"
Laurie listened to what "Doc" as Serena called the shrink said, occupying himself with staring out the window. Sounded like fucking crazy shit, really really fucking crazy and honestly a product of circumstance and perspective. He knew a lot of people on the job just didn't stay hydrated, made them real fucking loony. But he didn't really doubt the death, and it was clear the woman was personally touched by the tragedy.
It took a long moment but he swallowed all his words an simply replied "Yeah." quietly, pinching the bridge of his nose. He took a glance at Serena, considering asking the SWAT lady to tell her chihuahua story but then decided against it. Staring back out the window, he decided he was for now content to ride in silence. Man, he missed the quiet and all the rest of the fucking sausage fest car.
Serena had been half listening to the conversation in the back but she opted to remain silent. She let the gentle curves of the highway and the sweet aroma from Laine’s cigarette taunt her into dozing off in spurts along the way to the cabin. She was ready to get some proper sleep in but there was no telling how long that was going to be from then.
Dr Laine cast a sidelong glance at Laurie and shook her head slightly, then focused on the road. Whatever had brought this man in was a mystery and she did not have the energy to pry it out of him.
>...///“So, where the hell we goin’?” Justin spoke up, relaxing back in his seat, taking a bite out of a protein bar, a genuine Ranger Bar to be specific, the fabled treat of any MRE. This one was banana nut. Of course he’d have those in his go-bag. And it made for a decent enough breakfast, anyways. They’d been out and about for four and a half hours now, had to eat some time.
Donnelley flicked the last of his cigarette out the window, blowing the smoke out with his talk, “Laine and her crafty little black-clad self found an address hidden away in a compartment. False bottom of a drawer.” Donnelley cleared his throat, “Real spy shit. Whatever’s out here, he didn’t seem keen on anybody but him knowing about it.”
“So I take it there wasn’t anythin’ juicy or interestin’ in the apartment?” Justin pulled another Ranger Bar from his bag, offering it over to Jason in the seat beside him silently, cracking a slight grin as he held a finger up to his own lips. Jason looked near incredulous at the bar being offered, moments ago laughing internally at Justin’s proto-typical “hooah” moment. He returned the grin and took the bar, shaking his head before chowing down himself.
“Nah, just my fine self.” Donnelley grinned at his own joke, chuckling as he shook his head when he saw the painfully obvious hand-off, “You know I got mirrors up here, asshole. If I show you my Special Forces tab do I get one too?”
“Shit, dude, you served? Coulda’ led with that-” He chuckled dryly, passing up a chocolate Ranger Bar. It’s not like he was in shortage. Tom was offered one as well, whether he took it was up to him.
“No thanks,” Tom refused the
Bulldog bar. “I gave up that shit. Only eat them on drill weekends now.”
“Afghanistan,” Donnelley nodded, sighing, “First time I went I was with the Ranger Batt’s jumping out of planes. Second time was in an ODA deep in them mountains.”
He took the Ranger bar, raising it to Justin before he opened it, “You were in Afghanistan, right?” Donnelley raised a brow and cracked a smirk, speaking around the morsel he bit off, “Who here wasn’t?”
“Guess the tab tattoo gave me away, eh?” Justin idly patted his left shoulder. “I was there, too. Third of the seventy-fifth. Well, mostly. First one was with the 101st.”
“What about you, Jimenez?” Donnelley nodded at the other man through the mirror.
“RC-South for the first, in Kandahar doing medivac. Then I was attached to the 75th in Ghazni as a QRF toe-tagging HVTs,” Jason replied. "That was...short lived.” He tore off a piece of his ranger bar to keep from talking anymore.
“So Joe, I’ve been meaning to ask, What the fuck are we doing out here? I thought this was some joint FBI/CIA operation which is what I signed up for. Where the fuck are we going and what the hell are we doing out here at oh dark thirty!?” Tom was slightly annoyed, primarily because he was tired.
“You really want to know?” Donnelley’s demeanor seemed to change completely as the heaviness of his brow became apparent. He looked to Tom in the driver’s seat, looked back at the two others and then righted himself, watching the Chrysler amble on ahead of them. “Consider this an interview. A test run.”
“The people far away from here gave me the same choice that was given to all of you. None of you said no. I want to see how you all work.” Donnelley said, his eyes going from Justin to Jimenez from the rear view mirror before they went back to the road, “I’ll tell it to you like I told it to Laine. You keep your eyes peeled and your ears open, you’ll learn. You’ll get those answers.”
Jason wished he had popped an adderall earlier to ward off the nagging dullness of staying up all night, but Donnelley’s words coursed through him like a cold spring and his drowsiness subsided. He knew this was all a test, but still the puzzle’s image wasn’t revealed and he had to have more pieces, pieces invariably waiting at the cabin. He took another bite of his bar to appear socially busy, but inside he was giddy and impatient.
Could this be what I’ve been waiting for all this time?
Donnelley let the silence grow, “Until then, just do your fucking jobs.” Donnelley sighed, “I can’t give you everything. Not yet.”
>0623...///“They’re stopping.” Came Donnelley’s voice.
They’d come this far on the scribblings of a dead man. It wasn’t the craziest thing Donnelley had done, all things told. They’d made the hours long drive through the city and then the countryside, letting civilization slip away from them to replace concrete with green underbrush and tall trees, pavement with dirt. The roads had been kept well, the Chrysler in front of them having little trouble traversing the packed dirt, jostling every so often but otherwise still going strong.
For all the deep talks and prodding Laine and Serena had pressed him down with it was a little liberating to be in the Explorer. They spent their time whittling down the hours smoking cigarettes and thinking, making odd small talk intermittently. Quiet professionals all. “Let’s dismount.”
Tom stopped the Ford when the Chrysler stopped. He stepped out of the vehicle to see what Dr. Laine had found.
There was no cabin in sight yet, but turnoffs on the road had made conjecture easy that they were here somewhere. There was no sign of the Corolla, hell, no sign of anybody else. Still, his eyes set themselves to scanning the trees as he got out of the car, closing the door shut behind him as the engine whirred down, tick-ticking away. The sun had just come up, but the oppressive cover of the trees still gripped onto the darkness and lent a sort of quiet sinister way to the expanse beyond the road.
Finally, he tore his gaze from them, walking to Laine. Once he got confirmation from her that this was the place, there was only one thing left to do to get to their objective. Walk. Again, he rallied his team. “I know a lot of you have questions. All of you, probably.” Donnelley shrugged, “Some just voicing it more than others. We huff it to this cabin, figure out what needs figuring out. We do that, Foster and I will feed your curiosity about everything.”
“I know we got some soldiers here,” Donnelley nodded to Justin, “I won’t have to tell them, but the rest of you, keep an even spread while we’re making the march up to that cabin. Heads on a swivel.”
“We got any more questions? No?” Donnelley smirked, “Let’s get to it then.”
He was the first to break away, noting the fact the little trail up to the cabin Baughman owned had been overgrown, and it looked to have been that way for some time. This couldn’t have been where Sam and his family had been staying. That left a lot of questions for Donnelley himself, and he never liked not being the one with answers. He pushed a branch out of his way and stepped under another. They made the quiet trek up the path. They’d crossed maybe 300 meters of it, all of it uphill. He needed to stop smoking so many goddamn cigarettes, he thought, as he drew in a long breath as they made it to a clearing at the head of the trail.
He put his hands on his hips as he scanned the perimeter. It was a modest little thing, sprawling out in a single floor, wood walls and stone chimney. Quaint. There was an outhouse beyond the cabin and a small shed between the two. He hiked up his pants, bent down, surveyed the dirt and found no other bootprints but for a deer. A little ways away, a bear paw and some dried excrement from the animal. Satisfied, he rose again. “Nobody’s been here for a bit.”
He walked the rest of the way, looking left and right on his approach to the door. A try at twisting the knob told him it was locked. “Alright, let’s see if I’m still good at this.” He bent down to produce a set of lockpicking tools. It was a good five minutes before he got it open, but goddamn, he did. “Goddamn.”
“Alright, Laine, Jimenez. Same order of business.” Donnelley said, turning to the rest of them, “Watch that treeline. Tom, Justin, check the perimeter for anything weird. Laurie, Serena, you take the shed.”
"Let's hope he didn't stash old Sears catalogues here," Dr Laine sighed, thinking back on the hours digging through useless junk. She went up to the porch, then carefully stepped inside and moving to the left to leave room for Jimenez to enter the cabin.
The two men stepped through the doorway. It was almost just as big as his apartment. A single room setup with a bed in the far left corner next to the chimney, still using wood even though the light fixtures hinted the place had electricity. A faucet told Donnelley there was running water as well. Donnelley checked his phone. No service. Next to the bed was a nightstand on which a loaded .45 lay. The far right corner of the cabin had a bookshelf, mostly empty save for a few books. In the middle of the cabin floor was an old and dusty rug.
“Alright, well. Not many places to stash things, is there?” Donnelley looked back at the door, his eyes betraying surprise, “Remember talking about claymore mines?”
A shotgun was rigged by its trigger to a tripwire, though the tripwire hadn’t been fixed to its hook. He took a knee and took the fishing line between thumb and forefinger, shaking his head. Perhaps Clyde forgot to fix the trap before he left the last time. Either way, Laine was spared from having her right leg amputated by .00 buck. Donnelley whistled, stepping further into the cabin, steps careful after that experience.
When Donnelly mentioned claymore mines Laine followed his gaze to the rigged shotgun. Her face grew even more pale as the blood drained out of it and she staggered back slightly, out of the line potential shotgun blast.
"Jesus fuck," she breathed out, tightening her stomach against the roll of nausea that threatened.
She was afraid to step forward, her trembling hands pressing against her hips as she tried to look casual. "Why don't you go first, Mr Jimenez, Mr Donnelly. This is more your thing," Dr Laine said, unable to keep the tremor from her voice. "I need a moment."
Pistol in hand and pointed low, Jason approached Laine and the trap with cautious steps, his weight teasing creaks out of the old floorboards. He made a quick assessment of Laine, concluded she wasn't in shock, and met her gaze.
Donnelley nodded to Laine, seeing the very apparent shock on her face. If he was the first one in and came fact to face with the prospect of getting his leg blown off, he’d look the same. More often than not, he did, all the fighting he was used to doing by now. “Take your time,” he raised his brows at Jimenez, “Something here’s important if he’s booby-trapping the place.”
"You're in one piece, that's all that matters. Something happens I can patch you up," Jason said to Heather.
Dr Laine focused her wide eyes on Jason’s freckles, unexpected on his olive skin therefore fascinating for the moment as she calmed herself. She then met his gaze, nodding at his assurance. He was the medic, of course. She had forgotten among all the introductions and alphabet soup of military acronyms that had been thrown at her at the other cabin. Air Force, Donnelly had said.
“Right, yes, I’m fine, thank you. I’ll be fine,” she said, breathing in deep, tucking back a lock of dark hair behind her ear. Laine turned to look around the cabin, gingerly taking a step behind Jason where it was safe. Letting him assess the danger, she began to look for possible stash places, hidden spots that might hold clues as the false bottom in the drawer had.
"Pretty clear the family is a moniker. Your outfit recruit the son?” Jason asked, turning to Donnelley. “If not I'd say we just found a rabbit hole. "
Jason began to look around, letting any bias or presumption fade as he focused on the entirety of the cabin. Instead of patterns or deduction Jason instead read the room like an auspex, letting its totality reveal whatever it might. Each step from his bulky frame made the floor squeal with protest, giving the silent morning an ominous rhythm.
The bed, the shelves, the fireplace, she made mental notes of what she wanted to check. The floor creaked under the weight of the man in front of her. Under the floorboards, of course. She felt a knot of dread at the thought of belly crawling beneath the cabin in the dark. Her Docs tread more lightly as she made her way towards the fireplace.
Donnelley went for the bed, focused on the two things bathed in the dusty light coming in from the window, reaching down on the nightstand to look at the Colt just sitting there. The serial number had been scratched off, which wasn’t uncommon for agents to do way back when. Oh, Donnelley thought, how it would be to fight the good fight back then. Hunted by the government you swore to protect, having to hide every movement. Next to the Colt was another little framed picture of Clyde’s wife. His mind went back to Laine’s words, if Marlene knew about Clyde, if Holly knew about him. He looked at Laine and shook his head, putting the photo of Marlene back on the nightstand. He hated how much Laine’s words picked at the edges of his conscience.
He opened the drawer, finding a bible, a pack of cigarettes, and a metal flask not unlike Joseph’s own. Marlboros. Jesus. Jameson. He wondered if Clyde really felt safety in that, after all the things he’d have to have seen. Had to have done. Joseph knew praying never felt right after Somalia. Not that he ever did it much anyway, but back then he tried anything just to sleep. Just to save his marriage. Just to try to be in Tilly’s future. All the good it did.
He picked up the flask, the smell of whiskey wafting up to tickle at his thirsts and hungers. So this is where Clyde went then. They all had a place, everybody. This was Clyde’s, he thought, turning the flask over and taking one last look at everything before he shut the drawer, thudding it closed with a finality. Marlene gave him a last look, a smile, and nothing behind her eyes. The pictures in the apartment had been different. Like they were following the jagged and sharp trail Clyde’s life had sliced through Marlene’s. He turned away and sighed. Thankful, in a way, that Holly and Tilly never looked like that in the pictures he had.
On a nightstand beside Clyde’s bed was a photo of who Jason assumed was Clyde’s wife. He picked it up, studying the crows feet and smile lines on her face. Her smile was tainted by eyes that seemed empty. If it weren’t for the man’s death Jason would feel intrusive, but now his memories were a hollow imprint of what he had left behind. He had lived a life, one of secrecy and facades. What had he hidden from her? Maybe that was the lifeless depth in her gaze, Jason wondered, a thin veneer to hide a lifetime of not knowing who her husband really was. It was an uncomfortable conclusion for him, and one he didn’t undermine with the assumption they could have been happy once. None of it mattered anymore.
Jason shuffled past the bed, his foot knocking into something solid under the foot of the bed. He gave Laine a wary look before crouching down and seeing a footlocker secured with a padlock. Rounding the end of the bed, he crouched again and pulled the footlocker from under it. Jason stepped back, impressed with himself and showing it with a smirk.
“Bing—” he said, but paused as he noticed something peculiar as he back-stepped away from the bed. The creaking of the floorboards became different, even hollow. He crouched yet again and rasped the floor with a knock, first where he had been and then underneath him. Both produced distinctly different sounds. He repeated the knocking again to be sure, this time certain he had found something.
“—go,” he finished. “Donnelley, I think we have something here.”
Dr Laine watched Jason pull out the box from under the bed, it was not exactly a clever hiding place but it was a footlocker, not many places to hide it in this spartan cabin. Her hand ran along the stone of the mantle on the fireplace, feeling for any loose spots but the mortar held fast. Her attention was diverted back to the bed as Jason knocked on the boards.
“Be careful,” she said, “Let me know if you need help.”
“Yeah,” he replied, fingers probing the groves of the floorboards.
Her attention went back to the fireplace, using her phone’s flashlight to peer into the darkness. Laine had to get on her hands and knees, laying the light down to point up as she tried to find any wires that might be strung on a trap. Her hand moved up into the sooty chimney, feeling around gingerly. Her fingernails scraped the grit but she felt something move, a brick jiggled in place. Her heart jumped, the same exhilaration as she had when making a critical discovery on a case.
Laine bent down, pushing her rear in the air as she got half way into the fireplace, twisting her arm up to get a better purchase on the loose stone. Her fingers gripped it, it was almost too far up as Baughman must have been taller with a longer reach. But she had it and she worked it back and forth until it slid out. It fell and hit the cold ash with a thunk and in the hole it left Laine felt something flat and hard, metallic. She grabbed it and pulled herself out of the fireplace, holding up a key in the sunlight through the window, the brass gleaming under the dust.
Her black hair and shirt was coated in ash and soot, her nail polish chipped on her forefinger. Laine shook her head, swiping aside bangs and leaving a smudge across her forehead. “Found a key, just need the lock. How’s that floor look?”
“Let’s find out.” Donnelley bent down, taking a corner of the rug and throwing it away from its resting place. The space it left was a shape of itself, the wood looking fresher and less dusty. “This hasn’t been moved for a long damn time.”
And there in the floor was a door, Donnelley looked at Laine and Jason, “Who goes first?”
No answer, not that he waited long for one. He stood, stepped over to position himself in front of the handholds. Little holes cut out of the floor. His fingers slipped into them, dug in as he lifted and then threw the thing creaking open on its hinges. It wasn’t a stairway like he hoped, but it was something. Another footlocker, another lock. Donnelley whistled, “Plot thickens, huh?”
He reached down for the footlocker in the wooden recess of the floor, fingers stopping just short of it. His mind flashed to the shotgun at the door. His fingers changed course. Feeling along the bottom of the box, the corners of the recess in the floorboards. He didn’t feel anything. Satisfied, he placed his hands on the metal handles of the lockbox, knowing full well what kind of traps the Taliban, the militias in Somalia, Chechen separatists, and now finally old Clyde Baughman could rig.
Maybe a hole drilled at the bottom of the box, strings attached to something inside so when it’s lifted, it pulls the pins on seven grenades and finishes the last of Joseph’s good looks that the burn scar didn’t get to. He let go of the handles. “Goddamnit, Clyde.”
“Key.” Donnelley said, “And step back.”
Once Laine placed the key in his waiting, sweaty palm, he tried at the padlock with no success. “Damn it,” he hissed, offering the key back to Laine, “Try it on that other one.”
She backed up after handing Donnelly the key, all the way back to the stone fireplace and watched with bated breath. Laine breathed a sigh, both disappointed and relieved, it did not open but it did not explode either. She would count that as a win. Once he gave her the key back, she went to the foot locker Jason had removed from under the bed. Laine looked at him, then raised her brow at the irony when she said, “Living dangerously now.”
Laine slipped the key into the padlock on the wooden box and turned it, hearing the click of the lock releasing. Taking it off, she tossed it onto the bed and opened the lid, slowly and overly suspicious but the memory of the unrigged shotgun was still fresh.
Inside the box was an arrayment of memories, more photos of family, tiny white Christening gowns and a pair of blue baby shoes and a pink blanket. His children’s mementos and perhaps their children, she thought as she picked up a yellowed photo of beaming Baughmans with an infant and toddler at some park. Her fingers rifled through the items, and landed on a box, small and the old velvet worn off on the corners. A ring box.
Laine popped it open, expecting his wife’s engagement ring or their wedding bands but instead there sat another key. She plucked it out and looked at the men, “This might help, Mr. Donnelly.”
Donnelley watched her rifle through the past up until she handed him another key. He took it, smiling, “Living dangerous is about all I got.”
He chuckled as he slipped the key home, the chuckle guttering as he placed his hands on the lid. He took a breath, looking at Laine and Jimenez before he flung it open.
He wasn’t dead, so that was nice.
“Huh.” Donnelley sucked his teeth. Reel-to-reel tapes, masking tape on one dating it 8/15/62. The other’s masking tape label was 9/29/62. He carefully picked them up and placed them on the floor. A closed cardboard box was under them, an envelope with a green triangle, again made out to a ‘Mr. Green.’ He handed the envelope to whoever took it, his attention still on the cardboard box.
Jason took the envelope after giving Laine a testing glance, opened it, and began reading.
Donnelley carefully opened the box, revealing a neatly folded suit. Neat. But very bloody. “Alright…”
He folded the box’s lid back up, lifting it to reveal three safe tear gas grenades sitting at the bottom, next to a leather pouch and a knife. The knife looked old, like Clyde had pulled it out of a museum or straight out of the ground. Curious script went along the blade of the knife, hilt to point. He took the knife’s hilt in his hand and made to test its weight when he noticed a small glass sphere stuck to the knife. He pulled at it. No glue. “What the fuck?”
After a great deal of struggling, the glass sphere came free. Was it a magnet? But glass. Again and again, he stuck and unstuck the glass sphere to the metal knife. He shook his head, “What the fuck.”
He picked up a stack of papers at the bottom, read the title, ‘Sky Devils: Archetypical Figures in Native American Mythology’, by a Karen Barr, dated 1975. “Never heard of this.” He put it back in the box, “Some weird damn stuff.”
He shook his head deciding not to probe deeper at whatever else the box held. The leather pouch was the only stone unturned and he didn’t seem keen to after the glass magnet. Which dropped and stuck in place on the metal footlocker next the knife. “What, uh,” he shook his head again as he closed the lid on the strangeness, “What’s in the envelope? Don’t let it be another address.”
With growing wonder, Dr Laine looked through the box, a thrill of adventure she had not felt since she was a child looking through her Grandpa's attic. The knife was fascinating, but the strange glass sphere was unlike anything she had ever seen or heard about. When Donnelly set it down, she picked it up and tried to pluck the glass ball from the bed of the locker and feeling the pull against the iron. It took more force than she expected to try and pull it free, the glass sphere clinging stubbornly. Laine set the knife down, then went for the untouched leather pouch as the envelope not unlike the one she found earlier went into Jason's hands. All the while Jason glared at the note, his expression furrowing into concern.
Holding the pouch, she tugged the leather cords that tied it closed and felt them give way. Inside was collection of natural materials. She poured some of it out in her hand, small pebbles that on closer inspection were human teeth and a tangle of dusty feathers and long strands of brown hair. Laine pulled it out further and saw it was still attached to a dried, grisly piece of scalp.
She had an idea of what it might be but said nothing, glancing up only when she heard Donnelly ask Jason about the envelope.
Jason whipped his head to the far side of the cabin as if he was searching for something. Extending the note to either of them, he began to make for the door in a distracted gait. “Read it,” he muttered to both of them, eyes locked to the door.
Laine watched his reaction and turned to toss the pouch back into the locker as Donnelly took the letter. Jason was off, striding out the door and she looked at the red haired man, “What is it?”
>...///Serena nodded to Donnelley,
again- it was a pretty straightforward task. She pulled a piece of gum from her pack and unwrapped it. She was careful to put the wrapper back in her pocket along with the pack. She nodded at Laurie and started to head for the shed.
"God-damn fucking right you don't litter that shit." Laurie said while following Serena; the woman had just gained a few points in Laurie's head and prompted a smile. "The two of us again eh hot-shit?" he commented, going around to the shed. He didn't draw his weapon or anything of the sort, but he crouched keeping an eye out while waving a hand to motion for Gomez to do likewise.
He got over to the shed, noticing there was a door. It was quite an obvious obstacle. He looked to Serena who he took it didn't take lockpicking tools and thus knew the two of them would only have one remedy for the door problem. Laurie stepped back, took a breath, and slammed the door with his shoulder.
“
Uh right. Good for the environment and shit..” she said with a smirk, “I’d just rather not leave my DNA and prints laying around our second B&E of the day.” Serena rolled her eyes a bit.
Serena stayed close to Laurie’s six, staying in a crouched position. The sky had given way to the sun and it was much brighter now. She glanced over her shoulder back towards the car as she heard Laurie breaching the door. The calamity shifting her attention back to the front. Her right hand habitually finding the grip of her Beretta, but it remained holstered.
As the thing came out of its fucking frame Laurie laughed, a powerful but not obnoxiously loud "
Yeehaw!" coming from him. "Oh. Don't really give a shit about that." Laurie added, Serena having gotten herself back to a balanced zero of neutrality in his eye.
"You know you really should watch your step." He said as he stepped into the shed. "You step on more twigs and dried leaves than a drunk Klansman." The Ranger explained as he looked around the building. Nothing really out of the ordinary was here, he knew his dad had all the same shit in his own cottage's shed.
But going down, he hit the potential jackpot. "Hey, Gomez, get your ass down here!" he yelled, looking at the lock and chain. He ran back to grab some of the carpentry tools, and assuming Serena followed him queried "You got a hair pin or something to try to help pick this?" he could use the tools to try and force his way in but he'd rather try pick the lock first. Something about the piping that told him this potential jackpot had pretty good odds.
Serena’s hand still harbored the grip of her Beretta as she entered the shed. It was dusty and dark, and the air inside smelled stale. She glanced about the room, light piercing through the cracks of the walls. The beams were lit by the dust that Laurie had kicked up from breaking the door.
“Uh, yeah. Hang on.” she said, pulling a bobby pin she had tucked in her hair to keep the loose strands out of her face.
She passed by the table used to clean game animals and shuddered as the hair on the back of her neck stood in contempt. “Fucking gross.” she said, as she tried not to gag. Thoughts of the Tcho Tcho again surfaced. She made her way to the back and handed the pin to Laurie over his shoulder. He took it from her as she looked to the chained entrance wondering what the fuck could be hidden on the other side.
After he received the bobby pin, and played with the tools for a bit with a grunt of effort here and there he heard the distinct
click that told him he done good. “Am I hot shit or what?” he asked Serena, taking the lock off and opening the door. He cursed under his breath lamenting he didn’t bring a flashlight, but he assumed Serena had one for now.
Chains were set aside triumphantly as the hick boy looked in, and noticed the pipes connected to a septic tank which alleviated some of his curiosity. Until a voice came out.
“Clyde?” came a feminine voice. Laurie was, to be frank, dumbstruck. He hadn’t thought this far ahead of what he might come across and even if he had this probably wouldn’t be in the list of the possibilities he would consider. “...Yeah.” He said, trying his best not to sound like himself. At the same time, he turned to Serena and balled his hand into a fist with pinky and thumb sticking out to symbolize a phone, while his other hand pointed to Serena and then used index with middle finger to make the motion of a person walking — all of this was in an attempt to tell Serena to go and call Donnelly or anyone really for backup.
Serena pulled the Beretta from her holster and flipped off the safety and then backed herself up against the adjacent wall covering Laurie over his shoulder. She nodded to him and pulled her cell from her pocket as quick as she could and hit send on Donnelley’s number. He answered promptly..
“You need to get over here Donnelley, now!” she said in a low and firm voice. “We have a situation..” She then hung up the phone and braced her sidearm with her other hand, her forearms were tight, straining with rigidity.
>CLYDE’S CABIN...///‘If you are reading this note, I can assume I have died or become incapacitated before I had the courage to complete my final mission for the group. You will find about twenty gallons of gas in the shed behind this cabin. Pour them into the septic tank beside the cabin and ignite it. You'd be happier if you didn't look inside. Please make sure that the remains are kept from my children. I am so sorry. God please forgive me.
Clyde Baughman’
When a Delta Green agent asks God for forgiveness, it was never something good. There was something in the septic tank and Laurie and Serena might have just uncovered it. His phone started buzzing and he immediately pressed it to his ear, his heart pounding in his ears. ‘You need to get over here, Donnelley, now! We have a situation!’
“I’m coming, hold tight,” Donnelley said, his voice staccato in his throat as he unholstered his .40 and waved Laine along with him, shoving the note in her hand and heading for the door.
Dr Laine swiftly read the note, the request shocked her and she felt a dread, regret at not asking more questions about Baughman. She trotted after Donnelly, not taking her weapon out and she glanced at him, "Whatever is in that tank, we need to look first. If he's committed a murder, it can't just be burned away."
“Why,” Donnelley asked, casting a glance over his shoulder at Laine behind him, his weapon kept at low-ready, “You gonna prosecute him?”
"Obviously not, but if there's a victim then that victim has a family that might want to know whatever happened to them," Laine replied as they approached and she saw the two with their guns drawn. "What's going on?"
They were at the shed in a few and saw Laurie standing at the entrance to a dugout, a septic tank lid was at his feet. Serena was back a ways with Jason, “Laurie get the fuck away from that lid.”
Laurie was first about to object, but noticed the tone and the readiness for a fight of the group, and so he promptly ran back and got behind Jason. If they wanted to start a shootout that was fine but sure as shit he wouldn’t be catching lead when there were a whole four people to take it instead of him.
“Clyde?” The voice came again. The exact same intonation, as if she was calling him from the kitchen on a normal day and not from a locked and chained septic tank. “Clyde?”
When no one replied to her question, Laine put her hands on her hips, about to ask again when the voice came. Calm, not frightened but clearly female and in a damn septic tank. Her mind raced to kidnapping cases that she had studied; Castro and Fritzl, men who had chained their victims in homemade cellars.
"There's a woman in there, she's alive! And he wanted us to burn...my God," Laine started forward, towards the tank. "And you've all got your guns drawn."
"Listen to her tone, damn it," Jason growled, his stance mirroring Donnelley's with his weapon low and poised for use. His tone was incredulous and he knew it, the analyst irritated Dr. Laine was giving credence to a disembodied voice and not one of their 'own.' Something was wrong and it rang in the nonchalance of the women's voice. Anyone trapped in a tank of filth, toxic no less, wouldn't be so calm. It made the hair of his skin stand on end.
Donnelley’s grip on his pistol became that much tighter. Laine’s concern started to leech at his resolve. What if it was just a woman down there, frightened and alone and broken. He called out, “Ma’am, are you in a condition to walk?”
She edged past Serena and Jason, calling out, "It's alright, we...I'm with the FBI. We're here to help, we'll get you out of there."
Tensions of the group transmitted through their gripped guns and hesitation. The air was close and warm, a whiff of the stench from the septic tank greeted her as she got closer.
“Laine,” Donnelley called out, but she kept walking, “Laine, damn it, step away!”
“If you can hear us, just come to the sound of my voice, alright?” He called out to the woman in the tank, but he still had his handgun trained on the mouth, “Laine, come on.” He growled.
Dr Laine kept going until she was at the edge of the tank, "Please, come out. We're not going to hurt you, ma'am. Clyde isn't here, he can't hurt you either."
She glanced back, seeing the guns still pointing and then turned to the darkness of the tank. Laine remembered what she was wearing, and she carried no badge to flash. Certainly the woman had no reason to believe they meant her no harm.
"Clyde?" There was a slight echo of the woman's voice.
"He's not here, please come out so we can talk, it must be miserable in there," Laine beckoned, squinting into the darkness. There was movement and Laine reached her hand out towards it.
Between Donnelly’s reaction, all the drawn guns and now Laine approaching the voice that was calling for Clyde, Laurie had a moment of… well, let’s call it a premonition? He drew his .45, and walked over to the shrink to gently put a hand on her shoulder. “I-I don’t think that’s a good idea. Let’s take a step back, let the boss handle it alright?” he suggested, uneasiness all over his voice.
"Listen to him, Doctor," Jason added, annoyance and intensity bleeding into his pleading.
Feeling the hand, she turned slightly, giving the park ranger an annoyed glance and hissed a whisper, "There's a woman down there. A woman trapped in a septic tank in the middle of nowhere, that seems very suspicious. We don't know anything about this man we're
cleaning up after."
“Yeah… yeah alright.” Laurie stuttered, stepping back. Something was really fucky here, and he was feeling far too demoralized to try and argue with the Doctor. He just hoped this spineless moment of his wouldn’t cost anyone their life.
Laine hesitated, the voice was calm and inquisitive, unlike a typical victim. In her rush to want to save the woman that detail had passed unnoticed until Jason pointed it out. People reacted to captivity in different ways, perhaps the woman suffered from Stockholm syndrome or was drugged, the possibilities flew through her mind in the moments after Laurie stepped back. She stopped and started to pull her hand away, then heard the sound of movement again.
...///
“I wish I brought that God Damn M4,” this time Stewart uttered it aloud. Stewart and Clark remained together this time since they were in the woods. Better to support one another in the event something went down. They were no longer in town, but out in the woods. If something happened to Clark, Stewart wouldn’t be in any position to help him if they were separate. Tom was very curious what this trip to the cabin in the woods was all about too.
The pair walked around the buildings looking for anything that might be out of place or ready to alert the rest if some unexpected company showed up. It was pretty quiet in the West Virginia forest and the sun had crested the horizon already or at least the first rays of the morning were spreading across the land; Beginning Morning Nautical Twilight (BMNT).
“Hey, do you smell that?” Stewart asked Clark. A foul stench slowly permeated the area they walked through. It stronger the further they walked; a westerly direction away from the cabin. Flies hovered over something. It was the stench of death. Both men had smelled it before. It was familiar, but this sight was more than either could stand.
Tom grasped at his jacket pulling it up to cover his nose and mouth. Hidden in the undergrowth was the corpse of a black bear. “Oh crap,” Tom uttered as they recognized the dead bear. “Hunter?”
“No way. It’s fuckin’ decomposing, Christ!” Justin whispered, pulling his own fleece to his nostrils.
The bear was reposed on a tree’s root, near-decomposing. It had to have been long dead. And as Justin’s eyes adjusted, he eyed something along its form. Not hair. Fungal-looking growths seemed to line the poor animal’s nether regions, which due to its position were on display for the whole world to see. They were shaped like tops of cauliflower, and did
not help with the already pungent smell of the cadaver.
“What the fuck is this? Looks like-”
CRACK! The oh-so-familiar sound of a bullet going full velocity assailed their ears. The acoustics of the area made it difficult to tell if it was one shot or more at first, and the echo of it made it impossible to tell if it was supersonic or not. Soon after the shot was followed with a cacophony of firepower, all of it seeming subsonic that point after. Pistols. Clark was taken off-guard, flinching forward with his hand instinctively moving to his sidearm. Brushing aside his bunched-up fleece, he thumbed back the release and drew his SIG.
Stewart looked toward the sound of the gunfire. He drew his .40 caliber, looked at Clark, “let’s go check it out.”
>...///“Clyde?” Was all Donnelley heard before a pale, crooked hand shot up from the mouth of the tank like a striking cobra latching onto Laine’s wrist.
What came out of the tank hardly looked like a person. A cruel travesty, a rough approximation. Her hair, what was left of it, clung together in matted ropes. Her skin was bloated and rotting, almost taking on a green undertone. Her face was slack and the two eyes in it lolling about, purple lips hung open on a loose jaw. Despite her gnarled limbs and useless eyes, she moved like she could see as well as Donnelley. Her other hand was around Laine’s throat, choking soft cries out of her. “Clyde?”
They all stood in shock.
The high pitched shriek of horror and surprise was cut short as the cold hand gripped Laine’s throat with surprising strength Her free hand reached and pushed her palm against the rotting woman’s slack face, feeling the flesh of her cheek slough off as her hand slid across. Teeth scraped against her through the now exposed face and bile rose in Laine’s throat along with another sanity shaking scream strangled out.
She needed to breathe but the air around her was filled with the foul rotting stench, it seemed to be alive, writhing up her nose and she could taste it on her tongue. The smell, it was rot and wet, it was like the stench of sea and dead things. The girl under the pier. The dark voice.
Laine screamed again, her voice cracking in the grip of the corpse.
Donnelley raised his pistol, stone faced, sighted up on center mass and started squeezing.
bang, bang, bang, bang, over and over. He wasn’t going to let Laine die.
Laurie paused momentarily at the sight, but he was second to react. His Nineteen-Eleven was already raised and all seven plus one shots came out in a moment. Before the smoke even cleared, he drew on his knife and taser getting ready to have a go at the thing up close and personal like a man.
Serena’s line of sight wasn’t very good so she didn’t discharge her weapon. She was also terrified and was probably also in a state of shock at the sight. Thoughts of those disgusting things she had seen before came rushing back with the stench. She had swallowed her gum and her jaw was tense at the volleys of gunfire rang out. The smoke was thick afterwards and she could barely hear. Live fire in small spaces wasn’t ever fun,
and it’s never like it is on TV. She watched as round after round penetrated the target’s rotting flesh, riddling her torso.
“
Fuck me..” she whispered in complete awe. She removed her finger from the trigger and lowered her Beretta as to not accidentally put one off in Dr. Laine’s or Laurie’s back by mistake. Her eyes wide with disbelief.
Dr Laine barely registered the gunshots going off in a deafening staccato around her, the writhing corpse pulling her closer as she struggled to breathe under the tightening grip. Her knees buckled as her head spun, the lack of oxygen and the shock of being grabbed by dead person
dead, it should be dead and unmoving and just a body, there is nothing in those lifeless eyes had Laine off balance.
Justin ran up eventually, his SIG balanced in his hands at the low ready. He came out from behind a thick tree trunk with sights leveled, moving in towards the shed, but as he made out the forms of his colleagues absolutely unloading into the dugout with Laine on the ground, he lowered his SIG, grasping it with two hands and moving to get a better look.
Tom ran with Justin toward the sound of the gunfire. When they arrived, they witnessed their teammates unloading their firearms on something that may have once been a human woman. But what it was now, was indescribable. It was not a living breathing human yet behaved in a manner that a rotting corpse could not possibly... It behaved like something between a rotting corpse and a living human. It was animated, yet it was dead. With the introduction of at least a dozen small lead projectiles into her grayed flesh, her ability to animate movement was gone. The creature slipped to the floor and was really dead.
Tom could not believe his eyes. He softly muttered under his breath, “what the fu…?” He could not believe what he was seeing. He then recalled that day in Northern Afghanistan about ten years ago. This woman resembled many of the corpses they pulled off that black stone. The corpses in Afghanistan appeared as though they could have been buried for a month or more prior to piling up on the stone. Their level of decomposition proved just that. This woman was just as bad as the Afghani dead; maybe a few weeks of death. At least the corpses he found in the Middle East were not animated. Then Laurie’s reaction woke him up. He couldn’t help but feel weird, clammy and just a bit nauseous.
While the others were recovering, Laurie had a slightly different reaction. As it became apparent the thing was dead he threw his arms up and gave a loud “
Woooooooooooo!” and then spun once or twice. “You fucking see that shit? It was like that episode of what’s it fucking called, uhh, walking dead the one where they went by a sewer and some fat rotten guy was up and I was all like ‘pow-pow-pow’ and it just fucking died and man that was cool as hell!” He shouted, putting away his two weapons as he stooped to reload before picking up his casings. “Am I hot shit or what?”
“Holy shit…” Donnelley breathed. He stood in place like his feet had rooted themselves to the floorboards. The crumpled mass on the floor oozed black and long-thickened blood like tar. Beyond the buzz of Laurie’s voice in his ears, all was silent and still around him. He hadn’t even noticed Tom and Justin’s arrival.
Slowly, awareness seeped back into him and he thumbed the mag release and slapped in a new magazine as he advanced with cautious steps toward Laine. His eyes remained on the corpse as he held a hand out to Laine, expecting it to stir again. He looked at the face of it, or what was left, and a cold chill ran up his spine. “She’s dead…” he spoke, standing stock still, “She died… she died…”
He grabbed onto Laine’s wrist and helped her to her feet and backed away, holding his pistol in one hand, front sight leveled on the corpse still. “Marlene.” He whispered, the eyes, the face, jawline, delicate nose. Everything matched in his head to the smiling woman in Clyde’s photos, images of the woman that once was flashing through his mind juxtaposed with the thing on the floor she had become. “That’s fucking Marlene…”
He turned to Laurie, pointing to the jerry cans, “Laurie, shut the fuck up! Burn it.” He said, “Burn it all.”
“
Jeeeeeeez, alright boss, I’m just saying maybe this show of
prowess will have
some folk listen when good
advice is given, nah?” the man said, grabbing the cans as he over-pronounced his words while getting to work.
Laine felt the world raise up to meet her face as the corpse dragged her down, the unlife leaving her. The hand slipped from her throat and she gave a shaky cry, rolling over before getting dragged to her feet by Donnelley. She whispered, "It is, it's her. His wife, how...oh God."
She backed up, almost bumping into Laurie and she shoved past him and ran into the darkness.
>...///Flames.
The shed made good kindling. He stared into the flames like he was in a trance, the writhing air around the huge inferno they’d made of the shed, breathing out thick, black smoke to oppose the light gray sky above. He could feel the heat washing over him as he brought the lit cigarette to his mouth. He breathed out the smoke, but nicotine wasn’t enough to black out the memories of what he’d seen. He turned and walked away down the trail to the others.
Clyde was a fucking madman. A monster. A horrible, horrible beast. Or maybe he was just human. Unwilling to let Marlene die within the empty years his career had left, the deep crevasse it had cracked open between the two while he lived a thankless life filled with death and insanity, turning away the apocalypse whenever it cropped up and never getting to talk about it.
Letting the empty spaces between a healthy life and family and burning away his sanity for The Program grow and grow until his life fizzled out like the heat death of the universe.
The worst feeling Donnelley got for Clyde Baughman was empathy. Empathy and understanding. He wasn’t sure what he’d do in the other man’s place. But he desperately clung to the notion of ‘not this.’
He took one last drag and flicked it away from him with disgust, like the cigarette was at fault for his line of thinking, for all of this. At least no one was dead, he thought, as he looked at his team. They were milling about, some loading up the box they’d found in Clyde’s cabin into the back of the Explorer. No one was dead, he thought, taking one last look at the fire they’d left behind them. The angry flames eating up what remained of Marlene and Clyde’s secret life. There was a poetry in it that Donnelley couldn’t piece together.
No one was dead, he thought, at least none of them that mattered.
Good riddance.
Laurie walked towards Donnelly and the rest of the group, slapping his hands against each other to get whatever they accumulated on them to fall off, the air of a job well done on the Park Ranger. “You know for a bunch of tacti-cool boys some of y’all some lily livered crybabies.”
“Y’aint seen the shit I seen, son.” Donnelley shook his head, and jabbed a sharp finger into Laurie’s chest, “Until you have, show some fucking respect.”
The Ranger recoiled a little from the touch, his smile turning upside down “Relax bro, just a fucking joke.” He said, going over to the car.
He walked off after that, Laurie’s demeanor leaving a foul taste in his mouth, just as bad as the stench of dead Marlene. He found himself next to Laine, looked her over and sighed, “How you holding up?”
Laine ran to the Chrysler, reaching into her jacket pocket for the keys when she felt the viscous blood splatter on the leather and she quickly yanked it off. The jacket hit the ground and she could see in the firelight the gore splattered t-shirt and the slimy residue on her neck. She screamed through clenched teeth and tore off her t-shirt, wadding it up to use a dry part to viciously wipe at her neck until more red marks appeared over the purpling bruise.
She crossed her arms and hunched her shoulders, as she stood in just her sensible black bra and jeans, pressed against the car unable to watch the burning. Laine could smell the corpse still and leaned forward, vomiting up liquid into the dark grass.
At the sound of Donnelly's voice, Dr Laine turned her head, her green eyes rimmed in smeared eyeliner. "Not good," she replied, her voice hoarse. "I'm pretty fucking far from good."
“Yeah, I can understand.” He said, shaking his head and eyes from Laine’s barely covered torso. He did note the tattoos, focusing on them and trying to put them over the remnants of Marlene’s face. He swore under his breath and slipped his hoodie from over his head, offering it out to Laine, “Here, it’s clean. Might smell like cigarettes.”
He deftly brought the flask out of the pocket of the hoodie and unscrewed the top, taking a pull from it and offering that too to Laine, “I’m sorry.”
Laine took the hoodie, holding it to her face and chest, the cigarette stink was perfume after the smell of what was left of Marlene. She pulled it on, yanking it down over pale skin marked with black ink. "Thanks," she muttered, pushing her hair back behind her ears.
At the flask she hesitated then reached for it, meeting his eyes for a brief moment as he apologized. Laine shook her head slightly, then tipped the flask to her lips and took a few swallows of whiskey. She shivered as it traced a hot path through her insides and handed it back.
"He did that to her? How....how is it even possible? She's dead, she..." Laine stopped, then bit her lower lip, tears rising in her eyes and spilling down her cheeks. "He kept her like this, didn't he?"
“Laine,” Donnelley shook his head. There really was no use keeping things under wraps now. They had all seen it, shot at it, killed it. “I don’t know how. Marlene died a long time ago, funeral and everything, open casket, no foul play.”
“That was Marlene.” He said, “Was. What attacked you wasn’t… her. There’s things out there. I told you this is the only war that matters. Foster can give it to you better than me, but,” Donnelley sighed, “Pay attention to when the sun rises. Every day. For one more day. Because you stay this course with me and Foster, it’ll rise only because of us. And no one will thank you for it.”
As he explained her mind rebelled, it was not possible. The dead stay dead, maybe she had been alive and in very bad condition.
No, she had been dead, dead but alive. She wouldn't call it that, not the Z word that Laurie had been hooting about. Laine touched her bruised throat, looking at the burn scar on Donnelley's careworn face then his sad blue eyes. A thankless profession that stood between humanity and the abyss.
"How can I go back after this? Knowing this... unnaturalness, this horror, exists. I don't..."
She trailed off, her hand trembled as she pushed the black frames up the bridge of her nose, then rubbed her mouth. She could still smell death and bile and Laine dropped her hand. "I could use a shower, Mr Donnelley. A hot shower and more whiskey."
Donnelley managed a smile and a small chuckle, Laine was alright, “Stick with me and there’ll be no shortage.” He kept the smile for a bit, looking back at the pillar of smoke that was all too close still, he looked back at Laine, trying a bit of humor, “Living dangerous now, huh?”
Tucking her hands into the pockets of his hoodie, she could not help a tentative crooked smile as he repeated her words. "It seems so," Laine replied, hating the tremor still in her soft low pitched voice. "You think there could be an ending to it?"
“Whiskey? No. Dealing with this type of shit? Maybe one day. Our lives?” Donnelley looked around, chewing over his answer, he sucked his teeth, putting another cigarette in his mouth, lighting it, “Let’s just focus on how many sunrises we can get to, Doctor. Now let’s get back to the house.”
He winked at her with a smile, knowing she’d taken everything well. All things considered, no one was dead, least the ones that mattered.
“Living dangerous now.” He called back to her as he walked back to the Explorer.
The writhing pillar of flame shrank away from sight as they drove, leaving behind the last pieces of Clyde Baughman’s life. The Program would be satisfied, Foster and Donnelley could rest well at night knowing at worst Clyde would be labeled as a kidnapper with a septic tank of horrors. But at least the world would never know the truth. They shouldn’t have to.
Not ever.
Truth is a privilege. Or a burden.
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