a lion among wolves, bucky barnes (hiatus)

four.

WHEATON, NEW JERSEY
2014

"SO, the file's location was picked up somewhere around here,"

June was thinking out loud again, spinning a device through her fingers with relative unease. The technology in her hands was a kind of thermographic camera that picked up both heat and electromagnetic waves. Natasha had loaned it to her, stressing that it would likely come in handy. Yet so far, there was nothing special flashing on its small screen. June kept searching, however, meandering around the abandoned United States military training camp, kicking aside rubble and rotting wood, eyes wandering the collapsed barracks, crumbling obstacle courses. It really did appear as if no one had stepped foot in the base since 1945-it was a ghost town.

The moon had risen high above their heads, the night a dark cloak over their shoulders. In the dim light,  Steve was looking quite pale, unnaturally so, as if simply standing there was making him sick. When she noticed his nauseated appearance, June raised a concerned eyebrow. "Are you alright?"

Steve gave a weak shrug. "I've been better," he admitted vaguely. "I came from this place, too. It's where I trained."

"Has it changed?" June asked quietly, jokingly. Steve's eyes shifted in the scarce light, blue and weary and pained with memories he would rather forget. June knew he was seeing ghosts.

"Has it changed at all?" She pressed again.

"A little." His voice was low. His face was sullen and downcast. He looked his age.

"Well," June folded her hands behind her back, slipping the meter back into her jacket and nudging a toe into the damp earth. "There are no signals or signatures or waves to follow. My guess is something was wired here to keep away curiosity. Maybe a router, false trail . . . could be anything. That means physical tracking."

"I hear that's your specialty," Steve quipped.

"I'm not too bad," June shrugged dismissively. "I noticed something when we came in." She pointed a finger to a stout structure across the yard, hidden amid overgrown foliage and discarded barbed wire. "That's meant for ammunition storage. You know the regulations?"

"Yeah," Steve murmured as he ventured slowly to the unit, June trailing after him. "Army regulations forbid storing ammunition within five-hundred yards of the barracks. This building's in the wrong place." He approached the broad, padlocked doors, eyeing the chains for a moment before raising his shield and slamming its edge into the lock, slicing it in two. It fell to the ground with a thud, and Steve shoved the doors aside impatiently, gleaming shield at the ready. Subconsciously, he kept June behind him, leading the way with caution and alertness, his previous moping forgotten.

The pair inched slowly through a dingy corridor, dust shifting through the air in tangible clusters, the smells of aged paper and metallic earth filling their nostrils. June searched the walls, found a light switch, and flicked it on. The low-ceilinged room was illuminated immediately, rows of hanging lights flickering to life and chasing away the ominous shadows draped over groups of desks, strewn files and reports, rusted filing cabinets. June's gaze moved anxiously about the scene, her hands habitually burying themselves in her pockets as a heavy uneasiness settled upon her shoulders. She felt as if she was waiting for a bomb to detonate, every step potentially the last she would ever take, for even the slightest disruption would set off cataclysm beyond comprehension. As June and Steve moved soundlessly into the deserted space, their eyes fell at once to an unmistakable symbol painted upon the white plaster wall dead ahead of them: the silhouetted likeness of a great eagle with its wings folded and divided into six columns, encircle within a black ring.