TITLE:  Mesabi Ferrum 
AUTHOR: Zoonr
EMAIL: zoonr@hotmail.com
DISTRIBUTION: *NO ARCHIVE*.  I'll post to the normal 
places, anywhere else, please link to my site 
http://zoonr.tripod.com/  (and let me know first).  

SUMMARY:  It's 2012 and Earth is about to get hit with the 
"s**t storm of all time." As Mulder and Scully race to find 
their son, William, and save him from the impending alien 
invasion, the aliens unleash an unspeakable plague on 
mankind while engrossed in their own civil war.  Meanwhile, 
Gibson Praise and others in the 'World of X' are learning 
that you have to have a pretty big ring to hold all those 
keys to the X Files.

DISCLAIMER:  This work contains characters and situations 
of the television series "The X-Files," which are the 
creations and intellectual property of Chris Carter, Ten-
Thirteen Productions, and FOX Broadcasting Co. The author 
makes no claim to ownership over these elements, and this 
work should be distributed only in a free manner without 
promoting monetary gain.  Any reference to actual 
government agencies is purely fictional and based on the 
fictional version of the agency depicted in the television 
series "The X Files."  All content relating to real 
persons, places or entities is the sole product of the 
author and was acquired by coincidence, not with the intent 
to resemble actual practices, opinions or policies and not 
with the approval of any such entity.  For specific 
reasons, I had to say ALL of that... sorry for such a mongo 
disclaimer!
SPOILERS: Specifically "William" and "The Truth" but it 
covers the entire series. 
RATING: R  (Sexual situations, graphic imagery, language) 
CATEGORY: S, X, R, A
KEYWORDS: MSR, Pre/Post Colonization, Post Series, DRR
POST DATE: 10-16-2004
MY NOTES:  The story includes discussions and 
interpretations of various Native American and other 
religious mythologies.  I conducted extensive research, 
however ultimately this is a work of fiction and some 
creative license was taken with regard to these themes.  I 
intend no offense to anyone whose beliefs I may have 
contradicted.  I have only respect for all of the real 
world beliefs discussed within this story. In addition, I 
am not a doctor, a pathologist, a microbiologist or even 
remotely any other type of scientist.  I promise that I 
have not taken any more creative license with science than 
was taken within the television show itself.  ?  
FEEDBACK: Loved and feared at zoonr@hotmail.com

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Mesabi Ferrum

PART ONE

CHAPTER ONE

The wind howled as it whipped through the trees, swirling 
over and around the boy standing among them.  To William, 
the wind sounded less animal and more human; like a child 
screaming.  A nylon flag graced by a white buffalo flapped 
violently overhead, snapping itself like a firecracker.  
The cold, damp air covered William with a thin film of 
moisture, and he shivered, fear chilling him more than the 
elements.  Ten yards in front of him to his left a twig 
broke and he turned to see a rabbit scamper off into the 
cover of the brush.  He wished he were that rabbit, free to 
flee, to adhere to its instinct to hide.  Instead, 
William's feet felt like concrete blocks, heavy and 
embedded into the soft earth below him.

The forest was dark, except for a peculiar glow coming from 
some undefined origin deeper in the foliage.  The light 
spread out in a ball, distorted, blurred and soft from the 
mist.  If he could touch it, William imagined the light 
would feel fuzzy, like balls of cotton.  Out of the light, 
there came a man whom William did not recognize.  As the 
man walked towards him, William again tried to lift his 
feet, but his legs felt disconnected from his body.  He 
knew something was about to happen that he'd rather not be 
around to witness.  

Worse yet was the feeling that another pair of eyes were on 
him.  Someone else watched him intently from the brush, but 
William could not see who--or what--it was.  He only felt a 
presence.  The feeling both comforted and terrified him, a 
contradiction he didn't bother to analyze.

The man, now only a few feet away, stopped.  William could 
not clearly see the features on his face, yet he knew he 
had seen the man before.  The man turned around towards the 
light and lifted his arms up to the sky, as if he wanted to 
embrace the stars that loomed somewhere behind the thick, 
gray clouds.  The wind blew even harder, and William leaned 
forward to keep himself upright, squinting as he struggled 
to keep his eyes open.

The ball of light moved.  It rose up from the cover of the 
underbrush, the light radiating from somewhere inside 
something metal and mechanical.  As the light climbed 
higher, the clouds cleared, finally revealing a sleek, 
circular spacecraft.  It hovered overhead, bathing William 
and the man in a bluish light.  William turned towards the 
man, but the man no longer stood nearby.  William looked up 
and saw that the man had been lifted into the light.  He 
floated like a puppet on a string towards the ship with his 
arms still raised as though he were embracing the empty 
space between him and the source of the light.

Finally, William found his legs.  He would not be next.  He 
had to escape before it was too late.  

After one final look up, William turned away from where the 
ship had risen, and he just ran.

^^^^^^^^^

Rural Wyoming
December 20, 2012
2:20 am

"What is it, Will?  Another bad dream?"  The boy stood in 
the doorway.  The dull light of the full moon danced on the 
floor as it came in through the large window near the bed, 
but William stood in the shadow just beyond the light's 
reach.  Rob blinked the sleepiness away from his eyes, and 
lifted himself up on his elbows to get a better look at his 
son.  If he could have seen William's face clearly, he 
would have recognized the reddish-tint in the boy's cheeks, 
more pronounced now than it was naturally.  In spite of the 
embarrassment he knew his son felt at running into mom and 
dad's bedroom because of a bad dream, twelve-year-old 
William hovered in the doorway, looking unsure of his 
decision to interrupt his parents at this late an hour.  
His dreams were coming more frequently and Rob saw the 
fatigue in his son's eyes.

"What was it this time?"

"Same as last night," Will said quietly, rubbing his hand 
over the wooden doorframe.  Rob had noticed a distinctive 
change in his son's personality in the last few weeks.  
Normally, William was energetic, eager to learn, always 
questioning what he didn't understand.  Lately, he had 
withdrawn.  Rather than rush out to play ball with his 
friends after dinner, he retreated into his room, shutting 
himself from his parents and the world.  If William were a 
little older and cavorted with a rougher crowd of boys, Rob 
might have been concerned he was using drugs.  But Rob Van 
De Kamp knew his son much better than other fathers knew 
their sons, which was why he was worried.

Not long ago, William had mentioned having strange and 
disturbing, recurring dreams that would awaken him in a 
cold sweat.  It had been many years since William had 
habitually crept into the bedroom Rob shared with his wife, 
Susan, wishing to wrap himself up in the cocoon of safety 
between them.  But lately, it had become an almost nightly 
affair.  

"Well, come on in, then... if you can stand the noise.  Mom's 
sawing logs again."  Rob gave a weak smile, and patted the 
empty spot in the spacious king-sized bed beside him.  "Do 
you want to tell me about it?"

William shook his head as he crawled over Rob and slipped 
under the covers.  

"It might help if you talk to me."

William seemed to consider that for a moment, and even 
opened his mouth slightly on the verge of speech.  Then he 
quickly pursed his lips together and inhaled deeply through 
his nose, shifting his gaze downward.  "I don't want to, 
Dad."

"All right then.  I won't force you.  But, if you change 
your mind, you know where to find me.  Right here next to 
the foghorn."  Rob brushed his fingers over William's 
cheeks.  Then he pulled the covers up a little higher over 
them both, and slid lower down the bed.  He didn't want to 
push William more than Rob knew he could handle.  Will 
would talk to him when he was ready.  Rob had always been 
close with his son, and until recently William seemed 
destined to be one of those rare children who would 
actually confide in his parents when worried or under 
stress.  So, instead Rob laid back, closed his eyes, and 
finally fell asleep in spite of the rough sound of Susan's 
breathing.  

^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Duluth, Minnesota
December 20, 2012
6:32 am 

Dana Scully sat on the edge of the bed, methodically 
pulling on her wool socks, trying not to stir the man 
beside her.  The room was still dark, though in winter it 
always seemed to be dark, especially up here in the frozen 
north.  She never imagined spending her last days on earth 
here.  Why they hadn't just headed south to Mexico years 
ago sometimes escaped her.  Even now, she thought about 
getting in the truck and driving.  Her time in Mexico would 
be short, but at least it would be better than one more 
moment in this place, where for months on end the landscape 
was covered in a swath of white and the cold penetrated 
through her skin, to the bone and into her very soul.

She glanced over at Fox Mulder, sleeping on his side with 
his knees tucked up to his stomach.  She half expected him 
to have his thumb stuffed in his mouth to complete the 
image.  During the past few months, all he seemed to do was 
sleep.  They'd come to this town nestled on the banks of 
Lake Superior in their usual flurry.  Mulder was sure 
they'd find answers and she was sure to follow him.  But of 
course, as always, no answers had been found, and for the 
first time since she'd known him he'd sunk into what had 
become a paralyzing depression, nearly taking her with him.  

Truth was, they both had been heading in that mental 
direction for some time.  The fact that Mulder had arrived 
before her was surprising, but not shocking.  For ten years 
they'd been together nearly every hour of every day, unable 
to rely on anyone but each other.  It was one thing to have 
only each other, yet be able to live in the real world, 
with real jobs and a few real friends -- able to live in 
the world as yourself -- but it was a significantly 
different matter to be cut off from every shred of normalcy 
except for the company of one other human being, even if 
you loved that person as much as she loved Mulder.  Add to 
that the impending doom of civilization, the failure to 
prove to the world what would happen and the inability to 
find their son and one could say the last decade had been a 
bit of a downer.  

Their latest failure had been the last straw, and now they 
were almost out of time.
 
Scully dropped her shoulders, wondering whether Mulder 
would even notice if she did head down to Mexico.  They'd 
barely spoken in the last few months, and when they did 
speak, it was either in short sentence fragments or in loud 
shouting contests leaving them both exhausted.  Their 
situation combined with the short daylight hours of winter 
had frazzled their nerves more than she ever imagined 
possible.  

Scully shook her head.  In spite of all that, deep down she 
knew he would notice if she left, no matter where she went.  
He always noticed her, even now.  Though, it might take 
until she arrived at her destination before he realized she 
was gone.

"Where are you going?"  Mulder's groggy voice came from 
underneath the blankets, muffled and low.

"I'm going for a walk."

"It's six-thirty in the morning.  And freezing."

"I'll wear a hat."

"Wouldn't you rather wait until it's light out?"

Scully stood up quickly and whirled around.  Months of pent 
up silence spilled out making her sound angrier than she 
intended.  "No, Mulder, I wouldn't.  Damn it!  We may only 
have two days left.  There's no time to wait.  I'm going 
for a goddamn walk!"

"Oh," he said.  Her outburst seemed to do little.  "All 
right."

Scully sighed, feeling a twinge of regret.  She couldn't 
really blame him.  They'd failed.  For the past ten years, 
they'd tried everything they could think of to stop 
Colonization.  Truth be told, they hadn't come up with 
much.  They'd broken into government facility after 
government facility, destroyed experiment upon experiment, 
Scully had prayed to heaven and Mulder had shouted to the 
press.  Nothing had worked.  All of that aside, the only 
failure that mattered to them was the one she had thought 
about every day for more than ten years.

Scully glanced over to the nightstand where a picture stood 
in a stainless steel frame.  The photograph, slightly faded 
now, was of a smiling, downy-haired baby with big blue eyes 
staring up at her.  It was a moment frozen in time, a baby 
that would never grow up in the eyes of his parents, a 
symbol of past failure and irrevocable regret.  

She looked away from the picture and swallowed back the 
lump that was forming in her throat.  She had spent the 
last decade wallowing in guilt and allowing Mulder to share 
in it.  It was useless.  All she wanted now was to soak in 
the last moments of this life before heading into the great 
unknown that was the next one.  Whatever that may or may 
not be.    

Scully sighed, "I'll be back soon."

"K."  

She headed out into the foyer of the tiny house they'd 
rented only a few months earlier.  Its owners were "summer 
people" and had little use for the house during the winter.  
The wind off Lake Superior was brutal this time of year, 
and most of the people who visited from the Twin Cities had 
no desire to face an even colder winter in Duluth than they 
would at home.  They'd posed as writers and agreed to help 
with the maintenance of the property.  Mulder and Scully 
were able to get this place for a real bargain, paying only 
pennies for a place that during the summer would probably 
bring in a handsome income.  Considering their funds had 
almost completely dried up the house was a great find.  It 
was not always easy getting cash when you're on every 
wanted poster in every post office in the United States.  

Scully grabbed her coat and hat and opened the door to what 
would be, in an hour or so, the second to last dawn she 
would probably ever see.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^

7:20 am

Scully stomped her feet on the mat in front of the door, 
sending sticky clumps of snow falling gracelessly to the 
floor.  She removed her hat and her coat, hung them up 
neatly on the rack and headed towards the bedroom, 
expecting Mulder to still be sleeping in the bed where she 
left him.  She was going to have to wake him up, and she 
dreaded it.  She'd dreaded it a half an hour into her walk 
when the snow had begun to fall, tentatively at first until 
it grew into penny-sized, wet flakes.  The scene would have 
been beautiful, if it hadn't lodged a pit in her stomach 
the size of a plum.  She had turned around immediately and 
headed back toward the cabin.

She entered the cozy bedroom and glanced at the bed.  It 
was a comfortable queen sized bed; the frame was made of 
round cedar logs, sturdy and homey.  It didn't fit either 
of their personalities, but it reminded her of home 
nonetheless; of a time when she had her own bed, her own 
home, and she believed her future could be changed.  Of 
course, her immediate future was still unknown to her.  
Would she eat pizza for dinner or make spaghetti?  The nuts 
and bolts of her life were still changeable.  
Unfortunately, what she could no longer change was how 
everything would end.  More than ever she now wished she 
could go back in time and warn the woman she once had been 
not to take for granted simple pleasures she rarely allowed 
herself to indulge in:  A bath on a Saturday afternoon, 
walks on the National Mall during lunch breaks in 
springtime with the Japanese Cherry Blossoms in full bloom, 
sleeping in on Sunday morning and reading the paper in bed 
with Mulder.

But she couldn't go back and right now she wondered to 
where the occupant of this particular bed had wandered off.  
Mulder seemed to be taking a break from hibernation.  The 
bed was unmade, but empty.

She turned her head towards the bathroom, where the door 
was open a crack.  She heard the rhythmic patter of water 
hitting the bathtub.  A second later, she heard the shower 
knob squeak and the sound of the curtain sliding over the 
metal rail.  He hadn't taken a shower in about two days, so 
this surprised her considering the state she left him in 
earlier.  He had seemed entrenched in the den he'd built 
himself, content to snooze away his remaining few hours.

Nearly twenty years earlier Scully had met Fox Mulder whose 
unrelenting passion to seek the truth at all costs had 
both, inspired her, infuriated her and been the main reason 
she found herself falling in love with him not long 
afterwards.  She couldn't believe that same man would now 
willingly choose to sleep through the start of 
Colonization.  

She felt hopeful for a moment as she watched him emerge 
from the bathroom, steam following him into the bedroom.  
He wore a towel around his waist and rubbed another 
haphazardly over his hair, creating a disheveled look that 
sent a shiver through Scully, reminding her of another time 
and place.  Those few short months before Mulder's 
abduction had brought many moments of 'firsts,' of letting 
loose butterflies within her she never knew existed.  

That was a lifetime ago.

He looked up. "Hey," he said, smirking.  She realized she 
was staring at him.  He had been wrapped up in three layers 
of clothing every day for months and seeing him fresh from 
the shower wearing only a towel produced a long dormant 
flutter within her.  "I thought I was getting a little 
ripe."

"You have no arguments from me," she said, clearing her 
throat and straightening herself a little, remembering why 
she had been trying to find him in the first place.  "Uh, 
Mulder.  It's snowing."

"Looks pretty," he said, turning his head to look through 
the window outside where large, drowsy flakes fluttered 
down to the ground.  She had hoped he would catch her 
meaning, but he showed no hint of recognition.  He just 
continued to stand in front of her, patting the towel over 
his body and hair, soaking up the moisture from his shower.

"It's snowing Mulder.  *Early.*  I think we should each 
take an injection."  She said it in her old, business-as-
usual-Scully-tone, and braced herself for an argument.  At 
the very least she expected a drowsy lack of interest 
before he flung himself on the bed for another twenty years 
of slumber.

"So do I."  He threw the towel he held back into the 
bathroom, where it landed softly on the damp floor.  He 
quickly covered the clumped mess with the towel he wore 
around his waist and headed naked towards the dresser 
opposite the bed to search for a clean pair of boxers.

"You're agreeing with me?  No arguments?"

"I could probably come up with one if you're itching for a 
fight.  But I'd just be faking it."

"What happened?"

He slid on a pair of blue and gray flannel shorts, and 
turned towards her.  

"I had a dream."

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

CHAPTER TWO

Near Sedona, Arizona
December 20, 2012
12:01 pm

John Doggett raised his hand, fist closed, poised to knock 
on the flimsy plastic door that separated him from the 
inside of the small, metal, bullet train-like trailer.  As 
he brought his hand down to strike, the door opened inward 
and Doggett's arm swung impotently at the desert air.  

"Damn it.  I hate when you do that," Doggett said.  Despite 
it being December, he was hot and thirsty and if he saw one 
more cactus, he was going to pull out his gun and commit 
cactucide.  Too bad he'd flown and left the gun at home.  
As many times as he'd made this trip, he still hadn't 
gotten used to the wide-open spaces and traffic free sounds 
of the Southwest.  So far, this trip had been the worst 
yet, because the only flight he could get at such short 
notice had been a red eye into Tuscon.  He'd been driving 
for hours since landing.    

Gibson Praise, a short, stocky young man in his mid-
twenties stood inside the trailer, a couple of steps, or 
about two feet above the ground, smugly staring down at 
Doggett.  His arms were crossed over his chest, and at that 
angle Doggett could only barely make out the long scar that 
crossed over the man's skull from ear to ear. 

"I can't help it if it's one of the few forms of 
entertainment out here," Gibson said.

"Are you going to let me in, or what?  It's starting to 
rain out here," Doggett said, stepping up onto the steps, 
not waiting for Gibson to reply.

Gibson moved aside, and allowed Doggett to enter the place 
he'd called home for the past several years.

"It looks like we may need to build an ark out there.  
Sky's darker than I've ever seen it.  Wind's starting to 
blow, too."  

"It's starting."

"That's what I'm saying.  It's gonna rain buckets," Doggett 
said, taking off his wet coat.

"I mean *it.*  *It's* starting."

"What?"  Understanding dawned and Doggett shook his head.  
"No. Gibson, it's just a big thunderstorm.  Might be some 
flash flooding, but --"

"That's an understatement.  Have you checked the Weather 
Channel lately?"  Gibson extended his arm and pointed to 
the muted television, a bulky 20-inch tube model circa 
2003.  The television sat on an old wooden crate in the 
trailer's tiny living room.  

Doggett moved around Gibson so that he could stand directly 
in front of the television.   "Turn it up."  Gibson grabbed 
the remote control and pressed a button with his thumb, 
increasing the volume level from 7 to 20.  Doggett peered 
down at the two-dimensional Weather Man, who stood in front 
of a computer generated, holographic map of the entire 
United States.

 "... unprecedented weather patterns.  This is definitely a 
historical day for meteorology.  Stay tuned to the Weather 
Channel for more on the unusual weather across the 
country."  The program faded into a commercial for laundry 
detergent, blasting a cheery tune at about twice the normal 
level.  Gibson turned the volume down again, and threw the 
remote on the sofa behind him.

"What?  It's raining everywhere?"  Doggett asked.

"Yep."

"So, besides it being freaky, what do you say is 
happening?"

"You know what I'm saying.  This is how it begins."

^^^^^^^^^^^

Rural Wyoming
December 20, 2012
12:17 pm

Susan Van de Kamp huddled near the fireplace, hands 
extended toward the flame in a near desperate attempt to 
get warm.  She'd been feeling progressively worse ever 
since the morning, after being caught outside in the 
rainstorm, trying to get the last remaining sheets off the 
clothesline.  She'd almost made it too, and then all hell 
had broken loose.  The sky opened up like she'd never seen 
before.  And now, almost five hours later, it showed no 
signs of letting up.  Some December weather they were 
having.  Instead of blissful flurries of snow, timed 
perfectly for Christmas as usual, it was behaving like 
spring.  The air was cool, but not cold, and the thunder in 
the distance made her think it was March not four days 
before Santa.

"How're you feeling?  Better?"  Rob's hand settled on her 
shoulder from behind as he kneeled down beside her on the 
floor.  With his other hand he lifted up a steaming cup of 
hot cocoa and she took it from him gratefully.

"No.  I think it's getting worse, actually.  Must be the 
flu."  Susan took a sip of her cocoa and settled back 
against Rob's chest.  He wrapped his arms around her.  
"Where's Will?"  

"Playing a video game, I think.  They changed the status of 
his basketball game from 'delayed' to 'cancelled.'  Seems 
the school's roof is in pretty bad shape -- leaking so bad 
the gym is flooded.  They'll probably have to cancel the 
one next Friday night, too."

"Oh, no.  He's been looking forward to that game since the 
beginning of the season."

"That's what I thought, too.  But when I told him, he just 
shrugged, like he didn't care."

"That's odd."  The word got caught in Susan's throat and 
she spasmed, coughing brutally.  Rob handed her the box of 
tissues.  With one hand she grabbed a handful and wracked 
up phlegm for nearly half a minute, leaving herself 
exhausted.  Rob's eyebrows scrunched up in a look of tender 
concern.

"Are you okay?"  Susan gave one final wheeze, and nodded 
slowly.  Rob helped her up off of the cold floor and 
settled them both on the sofa instead.  Rob's body heat 
made up for the loss of warmth from the fire, and then 
some.

"I'm okay."  She smiled up at him, and smoothed her hand 
over his wrinkled brow, down his face to rest on his chest, 
trying to reassure him.  His face softened, and his heart 
rate slowed.  "Did Will tell you anything about his dream, 
yet?"

"No, but I'm really getting worried.  Did he mention 
anything to you?"  Susan shook her head as she gently blew 
on her cocoa, sending little ripples through the velvet 
liquid.  She was more interested in using the mug to warm 
her hands than in drinking her favorite Winter-time 
beverage.  In fact, the chocolate aroma made her slightly 
nauseous.

"If he wouldn't talk to you, he definitely won't talk to 
me.  You two have something special."  She kept her eyes 
intentionally downward.

"He loves you.  You know that."

"Of course he does."  Her lips turned up in a smile, but it 
felt forced, even to her.  She knew William loved her, and 
she loved him more than anything.  He had been her dream 
come true ever since he arrived at their door nearly twelve 
years ago.  He was a wide-eyed, round faced baby, unusually 
content in her arms even though it had been less than one 
week since his birth mother had given him up for adoption 
after almost a year of caring for him.  

Susan loved her son, but they had never really connected.  
Not like Rob and William, not the way she imagined a birth 
mother would connect to her own flesh and blood.  She felt 
awful about that.  Rob and she had tried for years to have 
their own child.  She always had that drive for motherhood, 
a drive that more and more women these days had suppressed.  
She'd never had any ambition to earn a living outside the 
home, choosing instead a far more difficult and important 
life's work.  Being a wife and a mother was all she ever 
wanted to be.

Yet, somehow the day she learned they would never have 
their own biological child, a piece of that dream died, and 
so did a piece of herself.  The decision to adopt was an 
easy one, and she truly wanted to go through with it.  But 
from the moment they had learned about William, and the 
mysterious reasons surrounding his birth mother's decision 
to give him up, Susan had worried that her dreams would 
again be damaged.  On some subconscious level she never 
opened herself up to accept this boy, or at least to become 
close to him.  She felt guilty, but it didn't change how 
much she cared for her son.

"I love him, too," she said, trying to convince herself 
more than Rob.

"Come on, Sus.  I'll draw you a hot bath.  You're 
shivering."  Rob sat up and pulled on her arm until she 
followed.  They walked past the big bay window in the 
living room.  Outside the rain fell even harder.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Duluth, Minnesota
December 20, 2012
8:07 am

Mulder closed his eyes tightly and turned his head away as 
Scully quickly pushed the needle into his arm.  To look at 
him, one would think the needle was a Yellow Jacket dive-
bombing him, stinger first, with its heart set on 
protecting the Queen.  Scully was convinced that a five 
year old would be easier to inject than Mulder.  The stress 
she still felt from her morning walk caused his reaction to 
irritate her more than usual.

"Jesus, Mulder.  You've gotten hundreds of shots in your 
life.  Why are you always such a baby?"  She'd spoken a 
little more harshly than she had intended.  Usually, she 
was conscious of Mulder's past experience with needles and 
drills, but today her nerves were frazzled, and by the time 
she had realized what she had said, it was too late to take 
it back.

"I just don't like to *watch* the needle boring into my 
skin.  That's a fairly common phobia," he said, shrugging.

She sighed, and softened her next words.  "There.  All 
done."  Scully set the syringe down on the table and 
pressed a piece of gauze over the entry mark centered 
between his left shoulder and elbow, dabbing the minute 
amount of blood before applying a Band Aid over it.  "You 
hardly felt it, did you?"

"That isn't the point," he said, trying to convince either 
himself or her that his fear was perfectly normal and 
rooted in common, everyday experience, though she wasn't 
sure which.  Maybe both.

The corner of her mouth twitched as she removed her 
sweater, revealing only a thin, white tank top underneath.  
"So, are you going to tell me about this dream of yours, or 
do I have to guess?"  Scully uncapped a brand new syringe 
and pushed it through the top of a small, liquid filled 
vial.  She pulled back the moveable part of the plastic 
syringe, sucking the light amber-tinted substance through 
the needle.  Mulder turned away as she brought the tip of 
the needle to her upper arm and applied pressure.  She was 
glad, because Mulder passing out on her was an event she 
would just as soon avoid.  

They'd conducted this same ritual almost every week for the 
past year, except for the past few weeks.  Though, without 
proper trials, it was difficult to know how often if was 
truly necessary to take the serum.  They'd run low on 
supplies, and Scully thought it would be prudent to save 
the remaining doses for emergency use only.  She suspected 
that Mulder could not have cared less, however.  He 
complained incessantly about the metallic taste the serum 
produced in his mouth.  Everything they ate had a hint of 
iron in it.

"Food was just starting to taste normal again," he said, 
changing the subject away from his dream.

"When was the last time you ate, Mulder?"  

Mulder lowered his head, suddenly looking like a scolded 
ten year-old.  "I don't know," he mumbled.  "I think I ate 
something yesterday.  We had tacos."

"That was two days ago.  Mulder, you have to eat.  We 
shouldn't be taking these injections if our blood sugar is 
low.  I haven't had time to study the effects that might 
have on our immune system's response to the serum."  She 
wasn't trying to preach to him, just stating the facts.   
After her injection, she began cleaning up, sorting the 
empty serum vials and the full ones into separate groups on 
the table, and stuffing everything else that was reusable 
back into her med kit.   "Besides, you're stalling.  Tell 
me what happened in the dream."

"You're not going to believe me," he said, avoiding eye 
contact with her.

"Obviously you saw him, again.  What did he tell you this 
time?  Where are we supposed to go?"  She tightened her jaw 
and pushed her chin slightly into the air hoping to block 
his words from entering her space.

"Wyoming."

"Wyoming."  She blew out a frustrated breath.  In the past 
five years, the figure in Mulder's dreams had lead them to 
about two dozen different places.  Sometimes, the boy, (who 
Mulder emphatically believed was their son, William), would 
specifically tell them an exact location; other times the 
location would be implied.   Before Mulder brought them to 
Duluth, they had made a stop in Hibbing, Minnesota.  Mulder 
dreamed that he and Will were playing basketball with 
former Boston Celtics star Kevin Mchale, who was from the 
little town on Minnesota's Iron Range.  Before that, they'd 
stayed in a small mining town outside of Pittsburgh, all 
because Mulder dreamed William was wearing a coal miner's 
hat with a "Steelers" sticker on the side.

"He's there, Scully.  I'm sure of it this time."

"What makes this time any different from the last time you 
were sure of it?"  Truthfully, she wasn't angry.  She was 
just tired of traipsing all over the country, and getting 
her hopes up.  She wasn't sure she could do it again, even 
if it was just one more time, and probably the last chance 
she'd ever have.  Her last dying wish wasn't to re-live 
giving William up for adoption, which is what it felt like 
every time they came up empty handed.  

"I'm sure."

"I can't do it, Mulder.  I can't."  She pushed her chair 
away from the kitchen table she had made into a temporary 
medical clinic.  She crossed the room to stand in front of 
the big window that overlooked Lake Superior, out onto the 
vast white blanket of snow, which covered hundreds of miles 
of ice, and finally ended at the Michigan shoreline, into 
infinity.  It was frozen tundra, void of anything, blending 
in seamlessly with the gray, winter storm sky.

"He's there Scully," he said, balling his fist and bouncing 
it silently on the table.

"Mulder, in two days, chances are all hell is going to 
break lose.  Most likely, we'll die.  I don't want to spend 
the last two days we have on earth in a car headed for 
nowhere Wyoming chasing another phantom, another dead end."

"Then why the hell did we just inject ourselves with this 
crap?"  His voice bellowed through the tiny house, cracking 
slightly on the last word.  He stood up, eyes blazing with 
confusion and frustration.  

Scully shared his confusion.  A few hours ago he had been 
ready to dig a hole and throw himself inside it.  Since he 
had awakened from his dream, Scully saw hints of a recently 
re-ignited flame blazing in his eyes.  It both frightened 
and excited her.  Unfortunately, it was too late.  Why 
after spending the last month slowly dying was he asking 
her to pick up the trail?

"You know why, Mulder!"  She was shouting at him too.  She 
was never one to back down in a fight, certainly not now.  
"The serum might make the virus innocuous.  It's the only 
chance we have."

"I know what the damn injection is for.  But why the hell 
don't you want to go to William and give it to him?  I know 
where he is.  What the hell have we been doing for the past 
ten years?"

"We've been chasing figments of your imagination!"  She 
shoved the remaining empty bottles of serum off the table 
and they crashed to the floor.  A moment later Mulder and 
Scully stood face to face silently staring holes through 
the other, until Mulder lowered his gaze and drew a breath.  
He stood with his hands on his hips, and spoke softer, 
struggling to control his tone.

"I know this has been hard on you, Scully.  And I know that 
you have lost faith in me.  But if you could just let 
yourself remember a time when you believed in me, and come 
with me now, I promise you I'll bring you to him."  He held 
his hand out to her; his eyes pleading with her in the same 
silent language that long ago they'd used to communicate 
with almost more than with words.  "For old time's sake?"

She looked at him for a moment; her jaw tight, as she took 
in deep, even breaths.  

"I'll start packing.  We can leave in an hour."  The 
contempt she felt slipped through to her voice.  She walked 
past his outstretched hand without a glance.  She hadn't 
lost faith in him.  She would still follow him to Hell and 
back.

But she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing it.


^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Rural Wyoming
December 20, 2012
3:31 pm

Rob Van de Kamp tossed three tablets of Advil into his 
mouth with one hand and lifted the glass of cold water to 
his lips with the other.  He guzzled the liquid until the 
glass was nearly empty, then he threw the remaining water 
at his own face.  He couldn't see, but he was sure that the 
water turned to steam the instant it touched his skin.  An 
hour after pulling Susan out of the tub and sending her to 
bed, he was feeling almost as bad as she looked.  He wasn't 
coughing as heavily, but he had a terrible case of the 
chills, which seemed paradoxical to his incessant sweating 
and fiery feverish forehead.

That was one fast, insidious bug they'd caught.  

All he wanted to do now was fall into bed and sleep it off.  
In a few hours he was sure he'd wake up feeling good as new 
and ready to finish digging post-holes for the basketball 
hoop he was trying to get up in time for Christmas.  Not 
that it looked like he'd be able to do that any time today 
anyway.  He'd been caught in the rain after trying to sneak 
some work in during a lull in the storm.  One minute, the 
sky looked like it would clear up, poking blue through the 
clouds, then literally the next minute it was raining 
biblical-style, like the floodgates of heaven had opened up 
directly on his house.  Rob had barely made it back to the 
house before his tools succumbed to rust right there in his 
hands.  At least, that was how he planned to tell the story 
to William and Susan later on.

Speaking of William, Rob hadn't seen him practically all 
day.  The boy's melancholy seemed to grow exponentially 
with each downturn in the weather.  

Rob staggered up the stairs, stopping at William's bedroom 
door before he headed to his own, where his wife, suffering 
from a severely stuffed nose, was sure to be snoring at 
record decibel levels.  

William's door was closed, unusual by itself.  William's 
behavior had changed lately, and Rob wondered if his son 
had officially entered the surly phase between adolescent 
and teenager.  Rob felt the need to commit a basic 
violation of privacy that he had once said he would never 
do with his own son.  He placed his hands on either side of 
the doorframe and leaned his ear towards the door itself, 
pressing it flush against the cool, painted white wood.  

Nothing.  He heard nothing.  Not a video game, not music, 
not the television.  

His internal alarm was going off mildly.  He wasn't sure 
why, but Rob felt uneasy.  He had been ever since William 
came into his bedroom the night before.  William's attitude 
and his unusual behavior added to that paranoia.  Or maybe 
it was just this flu he'd caught.  

Rob laughed softly to himself and turned on his heels away 
from William's door.  Bed.  He needed bed and lots of it.  
As he started down the hallway towards his own room, Rob 
heard a creak as William opened his door.

"Dad?"  William's voice sounded small and timid.  

"Yeah, buddy.  It's just me."  Rob smiled meekly.

"Is Mom okay?"

"Yeah, she's just resting.  She'll be fine once she's slept 
for a while.  What have you been doing all day?"

William shrugged and looked down towards his feet.

"Come on, son.  What's wrong?  It's not like you to be so 
unhappy."

William hesitated, but he looked like he might tell Rob 
what was bothering him finally.  Rob patiently waited for 
William to speak when he felt comfortable.  He didn't want 
to scare him off.

"I had another dream.  I-I took a nap and had another 
dream."

"Same as last night?"  Rob asked.  William shook his head 
violently.

"I dreamed that you and mom got really sick.  You were 
dying," he said. 

"Oh, Will.  No, mom and I just have the flu.  By this time 
tomorrow, we'll be good as new."  William looked 
unconvinced.  Rob took a step toward him and held his arms 
out, beckoning Will to come closer and into his embrace.  
William stepped forward but he didn't return the hug.  Rob 
pulled back to look at his son, hoping to console him with 
his own confidence.  Perhaps that dad face Rob usually used 
for similar occasions was on the blink, because William 
didn't seem to feel any better.

"Dad, I think something bad is happening."

"What's happening?"  Rob soothed his son.  William looked 
directly into his father's eyes, and when he spoke, a chill 
went through Rob that was not caused by any virus.

"They're coming."

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

CHAPTER THREE

State of Coahuila, Mexico
December 20th, 2012
2:14 pm

Monica Reyes balanced a brown paper bag stuffed to the brim 
with groceries on her hip as she fumbled for her keys.  
She'd crammed them in the pocket of her jeans, and they 
were in there good and tight, wedged in the folds of the 
thick fabric.  The day was hot, and even though dark clouds 
moved across the sky, she suspected the heat wasn't 
planning to let up any time soon.  

The struggle to find her keys, combined with the strain her 
balancing act put on the muscles in her arm, caused her to 
break out in a slight sweat, mildly irritating her.  It 
wasn't long ago she could run ten miles in the dry Mexican 
heat, and now she digging in her pocket exhausted her.  My, 
what fifteen years could do to a person.

Finally, she struck metal and looped her index finger 
through the ring on the key chain.  She pulled the keys out 
of her pocket, unlocked the door and pushed it open, 
practically falling into the tiny kitchen.  Quickly, she 
stumbled to the little folding table near the center of the 
room and dropped the bag on top of it.

"Ugh.  I have to start working out again," she said, 
huffing out a breath.  Monica pilfered an apple from the 
top of the sack and rubbed it absently on her sleeve before 
taking a bite of the crisp, tart fruit.  She ate as she 
walked through the doorway into the living room.  With her 
mouth full, she called out, hoping to surprise Joy with the 
cache of lemon drops she'd bought on impulse.  

"Joy?  I have a surprise for you," Monica said between 
swallows of apple.

Monica had liberated Joy, with the help of the girl's 
mother, Patti, from a secret government installation nearly 
two months earlier.  The twelve-year old had been the 
subject of science experiments along with several other 
children.  Monica had desperately hoped to save the others, 
but had only been able to smuggle Joy out of the compound.  
Monica planned to go back as soon as she thought it was 
safe.  

Ever since bringing Joy and her mother to live with her at 
the small house Monica had purchased years earlier in 
Mexico, Joy had become progressively more sullen and 
withdrawn.  Monica hoped to cheer the little girl up and 
she wasn't above bribery

The house was atypically silent, aside from Monica's 
crunching.  She swallowed the piece of apple she was 
chomping and finally looked up, scanning the tiny living 
room.  

"Oh, my god," she said.  

The living room was in a state of complete disarray.  Two 
lamps were shattered, their pieces scattered on the floor.  
The heavy sofa was on its side, throw pillows slashed 
apart.  A piece of glass that normally belonged in the 
center of the coffee table was smashed into shards.  Even 
artwork that had been hanging on the walls was either 
slashed or lay on the floor.  Picture frames were askew on 
wall hooks.  Panic spread through Monica's body and she 
launched into a near sprint towards the stairway.

"Joy!  Patti!  Are you okay?"  Monica reached the top of 
the landing and called out again.  She heard a faint 
whimper coming from Joy's bedroom, which she shared with 
her mother, Patti.  "Joy?  Where are you?"  Monica called.

Monica pushed open the door to the bedroom, which was half 
off of its hinges, quickly stepping inside.  Twelve-year 
old Joy was huddled in a corner of the room, her head on 
her knees, crying inconsolably.  Her mother, a woman Monica 
had gotten to know very well over the past year during the 
planning stages of Joy's liberation, lay dead a few feet 
away from her daughter.  

And next to her was a man that Monica had never seen 
before.  

He had blood on his hand but was also dead.  The man's skin 
had turned a dark gray in patches on his arms and face.  If 
Monica channeled back to her days with the Bureau she would 
assess that the man had killed Patti, but there was no 
obvious cause of the man's death.  Right now that didn't 
matter.  Ignoring her investigator's instinct to protect a 
crime scene she rushed over to the frightened girl and 
wrapped her arms around her.  She looped her arms 
underneath the girl's back and legs and lifted her up off 
of the floor.  Joy didn't protest.  

As they passed the dead man, his body spasmed, momentarily 
startling Monica.  When they reached the bedroom doorway he 
stilled.  Satisfied he was still dead, Monica continued out 
of the room and down the stairs.  Joy buried her head into 
Monica's shoulder, slightly muffling the sound of her sobs.  

Outside, a crack of thunder signaled the impending 
rainstorm, and a few seconds later a flash of lightening 
flickered over the horrific scene.  It was only a matter of 
time before the heavens would open up and weep in unison 
with them both.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Interstate 94, 
Near the Minnesota/North Dakota border
December 20th, 2012
1:45 pm

The snow continued to fall in wet, heavy clumps, blanketing 
the road and slowing down their progress.  Mulder drove at 
a steady pace of about fifty miles per hour, a good twenty 
or thirty slower than he had hoped to drive.  Luckily, the 
state of Minnesota was used to large snowfalls and the 
enormous plow trucks were out in unbelievable numbers, 
slicing through the snow, pushing it to the side of the 
road, while simultaneously spraying a mixture of chemicals 
and sand over the newly exposed asphalt.  But it was still 
too slow for Mulder's liking.  Time was something they and 
the world didn't have.  

It was somewhat surreal that the Department of 
Transportation crew continued to clear the highways, to do 
their duty, oblivious to what was happening around them.  
Mulder wondered when they would finally learn the truth.  
How long would it take them to realize that the very snow 
their plows pushed aside contained the vehicle of their 
demise.  Would they ever know?  Mulder didn't think so.

As they drove, Mulder and Scully passed several trucks and 
cars on the highway.  Several vehicles were loaded with top 
mounted ski racks, transporting families likely headed east 
to the large hills substituting for mountains along 
Minnesota's North Shore.  Some cars pulled trailers with 
snowmobiles and All-Terrain Vehicles, a favorite pastime in 
the dragging months of winter.  Mulder almost wished he 
were one of those ignorant vacationers.  How much easier 
would it be to just go to sleep one night and not wake up 
in the morning?  Death was something he had resigned 
himself to the past month or so.  He'd almost begun looking 
forward to the day when there was nothing but nothingness.  
He now realized that wasn't what he had wanted at all.  

He was just very tired.

Scully sat in the passenger seat of their big SUV beside 
him.  She gazed absently out the window with her elbow 
resting on the window ledge and her hand pillowing her 
head.  Since packing up their meager belongings and leaving 
Duluth, they'd spoken approximately five words to each 
other.  Soon they'd cross the spot where the western border 
of Minnesota, lined by the Red River, became North Dakota.  

They'd taken the northern and slightly longer route, hoping 
to prolong the time they would have to drive through the 
Mesabi Iron Range, preserving what they believed was some 
measure of protection within the boundaries of the largest 
iron deposits in North America.  The aliens feared iron of 
this density, which was why Mulder believed William had 
directed them there in the first place.  At least, that's 
what he rationalized after they had arrived in Minnesota 
nearly two years ago hoping that this would finally be the 
time they found their son.  

And after he had failed to find him.

Mulder had believed William would be there.  Maybe he was 
on a basketball team in Chisolm, or enjoyed fishing in the 
thousand foot deep iron ore pit mines that had filled with 
water since their abandonment in Gilbert.  He wanted to 
believe his son was guiding him but that he just hadn't 
understood the message.  

Luckily Scully had found something.  That part of 
Minnesota, known as "The Range," was an easy source of low 
grade iron ore which Scully used to enhance the substance 
they'd been injecting themselves with in the hopes of 
building up their iron levels.  Duluth was technically not 
in the range, but it was a major trade hub of taconite 
pellets, which were loaded on ships in Lake Superior and 
transported through the Great Lakes to Pittsburgh and other 
steel producing areas.  

It was only a theory, but Scully believed that the serum 
she created, which she'd named Mesabi Ferrum, but Mulder 
referred to as "the stuff", might make humans resistant to 
an alien virus.  Mesabi Ferrum was based on a similar 
compound to the one Jeffrey Spender had injected into their 
son almost twelve years ago.  It had had little effect on 
William.  But after she had witnessed iron's effects on a 
Super Soldier, she later told Mulder that Jeffrey's actions 
had made her wonder what the connection between the two 
events had been.

When Mulder had broken into Mount Weather, he had not only 
learned the date of Colonization, but also the method the 
aliens would use to bring the Plague as well as some of the 
biological characteristics of the disease itself, which was 
largely derived from the physiology of the aliens.  Since 
humans and the aliens were biologically similar to each 
other, Scully hoped that the one thing that seemed to be 
different, the magnetite intolerance, would be the key to 
creating a vaccine.  Humans needed iron to live, but it 
seemed that the opposite was true for the aliens, or at 
least some of them.  

It was a long shot, she claimed.  Mulder thought she was 
selling herself short.  It was their last best chance at 
defeating the aliens and preventing Colonization.  If 
anyone could save mankind, it was Scully.  Unfortunately, 
the serum did little good so long as they were the only 
humans who had access to it.  It was hard to distribute the 
stuff to the rest of the world when they had effectively 
dropped off the planet.  Fox Mulder and Dana Scully had 
been fugitives from the federal government since 2002, and 
many, including members of Scully's family, believed they 
were dead.  

"Snow's getting heavier," Mulder said finally.  He spoke 
softly, but in the dead silence of the truck his voice 
boomed, causing Scully to jump slightly.  "Sorry."

She turned to look at him and faked a smile, failing 
miserably.  "It's beautiful, isn't it?"  She said, 
wistfully.

"Maybe if it wasn't bringing a Plague to end all Plagues."

"Yeah, there is that."

"I've noticed more cars in the ditch."

"Storm's getting worse.  Makes driving harder."

"I suppose, but it's not exactly blizzard condition yet.  
This is Minnesota.  They're used to heavy snowfall up 
here," Mulder said.  He lifted a sunflower seed to his 
lips, cracked it between his teeth and tossed the spent 
shell into the ashtray.  Mulder thought he noticed a smile 
form in the corner of Scully's mouth.  Usually she barely 
tolerated his seed cracking habit.  Maybe his annoying 
habit reminded her of the past.  He'd felt the past 
prickling him all day, and it comforted him.

"I'm not sure I get your point," Scully said, bringing him 
back to the present.

"It just seems more people than usual are having car 
trouble.  The further away we get from the Iron Range, the 
more breakdowns I've seen.  And I swear that in several of 
the cars, people were slumped over the wheel."

"If they spun off the road, they likely could have been 
injured.  Maybe we should call for help," Scully said.  
They hadn't carried cell phones in years, but more than 
likely any driver in any car would have one.

"They didn't look like the type of accidents that would 
cause injuries to me.  I don't think stopping for help 
would be a good idea."  Mulder glanced down at his gas 
gauge.  The tank was getting low and soon they'd be in the 
Dakotas.  Long distances of nothing in a snowstorm told him 
he better stop soon at least to refuel.  "Are you hungry?  
We have to stop for gas anyway."

"Wait a minute.  Are you suggesting that the Plague is 
already causing illness?  That would be one of the fastest 
pathologies I've ever seen."

"That surprises you?  The weird thing is that I didn't see 
one accident until we passed Bemidji," Mulder said.  

Bemidji was a small town on the western border of the Iron 
Range.  Not exactly the end of it, but close.  After that, 
the rich deposits of iron began to peter out significantly.  

"I guess that would make sense.  If iron in large 
concentrations can kill the aliens, then maybe it can also 
slow down the bug they're using.  If it's based in alien 
physiology, it seems logical.  Maybe we should head back."

"No, if this bug is as fast as it looks, William won't have 
time.  We may already be too late."

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Near Sedona, Arizona
December 20, 2012
3:36 pm

It was only about 3:30 in the afternoon, but outside the 
sky was dark as night.  The rain pummeled the tiny trailer, 
echoing off the metal, creating a tinny sound that was 
almost hypnotizing to the occupants inside.  They sat on 
the sofa, both silently watching television.  Anyway, one 
of them was watching a television program, the other was 
looking at the show on the tube but listening to the one 
playing inside John's head.  Not that there was much of 
interest going on there, aside from building frustration 
and boredom.

"All right, that's it.  I can't just sit around anymore," 
John said.  He jumped up off the sofa, throwing his hands 
on his hips, looking for any way to release some of his 
nervous energy.  

"What do you want to do?"  Gibson calmly looked up at John.  

"I don't know.  If what you say is true, which I'm not 
saying it is, then I can't just sit around and wait for the 
world to end."  

Gibson smiled at his friend.  He knew that despite his 
words, John was afraid.  He was aware more than almost 
anyone of what was going on, and his denial was only a form 
of deflection.  Even now as it was happening, it was too 
mind boggling to put into words.  

"What are you smiling at?" John asked.

"We've done everything we can.  All we can do now is wait."

"That can't be all.  This can't be everything.  We should 
go out and do something," John said, still pacing.

"If we leave here, we won't have the protection from the 
rocks."  Gibson opened his mouth to say something else, but 
before he could get the words out, he turned his head 
abruptly toward the window.  

"What is it?"  John moved toward the window to peer out 
into the rain.  Visibility was reduced substantially with 
the storm, but despite that Gibson could make out 
headlights coming toward the trailer, speeding toward them 
at a good clip.  "Who is it, Gibson?  Can you hear them?"

Gibson understood John's meaning and moved to stand beside 
him, focusing his thoughts on the occupant of the car.  The 
car slowed and came to a stop.  The door opened and just 
before the driver stepped out, Gibson knew who it was.  
"It's a friend."

"Well, who is it?"  John looked up and Gibson felt John's 
anxiety leave his body when he was finally able to make out 
the visitor's face.  

"Monica?"  John said.  He moved away from the window with 
sudden quickness, and threw open the door to the trailer.  
The wind blew in, blowing a newspaper off the kitchen 
table.  John stepped out into the rain.  He jogged towards 
her, oblivious to the fact that he was getting drenched.  
Upon reaching her, he lifted Monica up in a bear-like 
embrace.  She'd barely had time to see who was accosting 
her before he squeezed her the way a child may accidentally 
squish a small animal that it wants to protect.  

Through a breathless gasp and turned up lips Monica said, 
"Hi, John.  Good to see you, too."  He set her down, and 
clasped his hands over her face, rubbing his thumb over her 
cheek.  

"What are you doing here?  I didn't think I'd see you 
again," John said.  Though Gibson stayed inside the 
trailer, he heard their conversation perfectly.  His mind 
amplified their words and thoughts, though he wasn't always 
sure which were which.

"I know.  I'm sorry."  Monica looked down at her feet, the 
mirth in her eyes left her suddenly as she remembered their 
parting, as well as the reason for her arrival.  "I need 
your help."

"Well, come on.  Let's get out of this rain," John said, 
putting his hand on her back, pushing Monica towards the 
trailer door.

"Wait.  I have someone else with me," Monica said, turning 
back to the car.

"Oh."  The look on John's face was comical.  He thought the 
'someone else' was a man, likely a boyfriend, perhaps even 
a husband.  Not that it should really matter to him.  John 
had made it clear to her the last time they saw each other 
that he could never see the two of them as anything more 
than partners and friends.  Monica turned back, and 
Gibson's mind heard Monica pick up on John's expression.  
She considered letting John sweat it out for a moment, 
maybe for some friendly sadistic fun, then her thoughts 
returned to the passenger who still sat in the car.

Monica walked over to the passenger side of the door, 
opened it and helped a little girl out of the car.  She 
shepherded her toward the wide-open door to the trailer and 
walked up the steps and inside.  When all were safely in 
the dry trailer, door closed to the elements, Monica 
introduced them.

"John, Gibson... I would like you to meet Joy."

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

CHAPTER FOUR

Near Sedona, Arizona
December 20, 2012
3:43 pm

"Hello, Joy.  I'm John."  Doggett bent over placing his 
hands on his knees, bringing his eyes to her level.  She 
looked to be nine or ten years old, but it was becoming 
harder and harder for Doggett to judge these things the 
older he got.  If he had to guess by looking at Gibson, he 
would say the kid was nearing forty rather than twenty-
five.  That may have had more to do with Gibson's wisdom 
beyond his years rather than his looks, or his uncanny 
creepiness, which Doggett meant in a good way.  "I'm 
pleased to meet you."

Joy took a slight step backward and leaned into Monica, 
hiding herself from him.  She blinked at him, clearly 
frightened, but she didn't completely cower and her eyes 
were dry.  Doggett looked up at Monica, and scrunched his 
forehead.

"She hasn't said a word since Mexico.  I think it's some 
sort of shock," Monica said.

"What happened, Monica?"  

"I'm not sure.  I didn't actually watch it happen, but Joy 
did.  I got there... after.  Too late."  Monica looked down 
at Joy frowning in apparent worry, looking uncertain 
whether or not she wanted to talk about what had happened 
in front of the girl.  "Joy, honey?  Why don't you come 
over here and watch TV."  Monica moved toward the sofa, and 
Joy followed without question.  She sat down in front of 
the flickering tube, her sneakered feet dangled over the 
sofa cushions, and Gibson handed her the remote control.  
It wasn't until Monica tried to move away that Joy showed 
any reaction.  She reached over and latched onto Monica's 
arm.  "It's okay.  I'll just be right over there.  Stay 
here, okay?"  Monica smoothed her hand over Joy's hair and 
gently smiled.

A moment later, the three adults gathered in the kitchen 
area of the trailer.  It wasn't exactly another room, but 
it was better than talking in the living room within easy 
earshot of Joy.  The men listened as Monica told them how 
she had found Joy's mother Patti dead at the hands of what 
she believed was a Super Soldier.  

"What did it want?"  Doggett asked, gritting his teeth.  
The mere mention of Super Soldiers made all the fillings in 
his mouth ring.   The creatures - they weren't men - had 
lost interest in him since he had left the Bureau a few 
years earlier.  He wasn't Fox Mulder.  He didn't have the 
energy to chase conspiracy theories until his dying day.  
Even if he happened to know this one was real.  His paying 
job now was as a private investigator.  With his 
credentials he'd managed to carve out a decent living for 
himself. He'd retained a few professional contacts, but for 
all practical purposes his Bureau access was gone.  Even 
though he'd maintained a relationship with Gibson during 
the past ten years, his lack of any true power had taken 
him off the alien threat list.  

He wasn't sure anyone could truly be considered a threat 
anymore.  When your enemies hold all of the cards, it 
doesn't matter what you bet.

"It wanted Joy."  Monica crossed her arms, and glanced 
around Doggett making sure the little girl was still 
preoccupied by her program -- or programs.  Following 
Monica's gaze, Doggett watched as Joy flicked through 
channel after channel in an almost hypnotically even pace.

"Why did it want Joy?"  He felt as if he were interrogating 
an unwilling suspect, coaxing minute bits of information 
out of her.  "Come on, Monica."  His tone stiffened a bit, 
and Monica snapped her head back toward him, shaken out of 
her preoccupation with the girl.

"Because Joy is one of the Twelve.  I helped her mother 
rescue her from a government lab almost two months ago.  If 
you can call it that.  Whatever government we once had 
hasn't existed in a long time."

"Rescue?"  Doggett asked.

"Yes, rescue.  She wasn't there by choice," Monica said.

"Who are the Twelve?"  Doggett asked.

"Children being used by the aliens for a project having to 
do with colonization.  I don't know exactly what the 
project is except that it has to do with their special 
abilities," Monica said.

"Special abilities?  Come on, Monica.  What could a bunch 
of kids have to do with all that?"

"Everything, John.  You've met Joy's mother before.  Her 
name was Patti.  She was the wife of the NSA employee we 
caught breaking into Dana's apartment.  It was her husband 
that was killed by the Super Soldier that wanted to kill 
Mulder.  Is this ringing a bell or should I keep going?"

"So, Joy is the daughter that she claimed was like Scully's 
son, William?" Doggett said.

"Yes," Monica said it as if it was a final statement; like 
all the pieces were now in front of him and everything 
should be obvious.  To him it felt like she had handed him 
ten pieces out of a thousand piece jigsaw puzzle and then 
was confused by why he was having trouble finishing it.

"So?" 

"Damn it, John!  You're acting like this is brand new 
information!"  She let out a breath and pinched the bridge 
of her nose with her thumb and index finger.  "I'm sorry."

"It's okay.  I'm trying to understand.  I'm just not as 
good as you are at connecting all the paranormal dots."  He 
smiled a half smile from the corner of his mouth.  "Let's 
just start at the beginning.  How did you get reacquainted 
with Joy's mother?"  

Monica returned his smile, pulled a chair out from the 
kitchen table, sat down, and began to tell them the story 
of her life for the past year.  If she had been anyone 
other than Monica Reyes, Doggett would have thought she was 
nuts.  Truthfully, he still thought she was nuts, but he 
also believed every word she said.  Almost.  He wasn't sure 
he was ready to admit that to her yet.

Doggett looked across the table.  

Gibson just smiled.


^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Near Sioux Falls, South Dakota
December 20, 2012
8:08 p.m.

Mulder's head lolled to the side, jerked up quickly, then 
began a slow decent back down again.  Scully had been 
driving almost an hour, and Mulder had been fighting off 
sleep the whole time.   Scully hoped he would be able to 
rest.  They planned on driving non-stop to Wyoming, and 
with the weather what it was, it would probably be into 
tomorrow afternoon before they got close to William.  
Mulder said he wasn't exactly sure he knew the name of the 
town they were headed to, but was fairly sure it was in the 
northeastern corner of the state.  He'd know it when he saw 
it, he kept telling her.  

Right.

"Mulder, it's okay.  You can sleep."  He popped his eyes 
open, cleared his sleepy confusion, and scrunched up his 
nose in an irritated snarl.

"I thought that's what I was doing."  Tired of arguing with 
him, and even more tired of being his mother, she simply 
nodded.

One mile marker, then another and another passed before 
either of them made another sound.  In those three miles, 
they saw about twenty-five cars stopped alongside 
Interstate 29, which soon would take them to the northern 
limits of Sioux Falls, South Dakota where they would then 
turn onto Interstate 90 and head straight through the 
Badlands into Wyoming.  

No problem.  

Except that along with the early winter sunset, a blustery 
wind had arrived, blowing snow across the flat, eastern 
Dakota landscape.  Some spots bordered on impassable even 
with their giant, four-wheel drive Tahoe.  

As they approached Sioux Falls, and the junction with I-90, 
Scully could make out the strobing lights of several 
emergency vehicles blocking the road near the exit on the 
northern edge of town.  She slowed the truck, and looked 
briefly at Mulder.

"What's this?"  She asked.

"Don't stop," Mulder said, sitting up straighter and fully 
awake.

"Mulder, I have to.  They're completely blocking the road, 
and there's a concrete median."  A uniformed state trooper 
signaled for her to stop, and Scully obeyed.  He came over 
to the driver's side door and motioned for her to roll down 
the window.  Scully pressed the button, and the glass slid 
easily into the door, letting in a rush of chilly air.  The 
trooper bent over, placed one hand on the window frame, and 
his other back toward his holstered weapon.

"Ma'am, I'm sorry but we're closing the road.  The storm's 
blowing snow across the highway."

"Sir, it's important that we continue."

"I'm sorry, but you'll have to find another way.  Though 
I'd highly recommend you take the exit and go to the first 
hotel you see," he said, pointing toward the off-ramp, 
which led into the small city of Sioux Falls.

"Can you tell me of another route?  We're heading west and 
had hoped to take I-90."

"Both interstates from here on westward and southward are 
closed by order of the Governor.  If you need to go west, 
you'll have to head east back across the border and then 
make your way to Nebraska."

"Is there a highway other than the interstate that isn't 
closed?"

"Yes ma'am, but I wouldn't chance it," the trooper said, 
shifting his weight to the other foot.  "If we can't keep 
the interstate open, the smaller highways would be even 
more dangerous.  If you got stuck on one of those, you 
could get stranded."

Scully shook her head in disbelief.  She shouldn't be 
surprised, but in spite of all she knew and had seen, she 
was.  It just kept getting worse.  Mexico sounded exquisite 
at the moment.  She considered questioning the trooper 
further, but as she lifted her head to speak, Scully 
spotted something, and changed her mind.  "Thank you, sir."

"Be safe, ma'am," he said, then ducked his head and looked 
at Mulder.  "Sir."  Then completing the movie clich‚, the 
trooper tipped his hat and stepped back from the truck.

Scully rolled up the window, and gently pressed down the 
gas pedal.  She directed the car to one of the two only 
available outlets.  The exit into town was out of the 
question, so instead she took the cloverleaf exit that led 
to Interstate 90 east back into Minnesota.  

"What is it?"  Mulder asked.  Scully checked her mirrors, 
making sure they were safely headed east and out of view of 
the blockade.  She couldn't detect headlights or any sign 
that they were being followed.

"Did you see those trucks back there?" she asked finally.

Mulder shook his head.  "All I saw were the trooper's cars, 
an ambulance and a couple of SUV's which I assumed were 
part of the state police."

"Yeah, and behind those, I saw a truck with FEMA written on 
it, and behind that were two HAZMAT teams, fully decked in 
level four suits.  One of them was working on the passenger 
of a car in the ditch," she said, still nervously glancing 
into her review mirror.

"Oh, shit.  Looks like they've essentially shut down the 
state of South Dakota.  Soon they'll declare martial law," 
Mulder said with more alarm in his voice than Scully had 
heard in a long time.

"We have no choice but to go through Nebraska.  As soon as 
we hit the Minnesota border, we'll head south."

"For all we know, that's closed, too," Mulder said.

"We're out of other options," she said, shaking her head.  
"Maybe further south it will only be raining, not snowing. 
It's fairly warm here; snow's wet, barely fluffy enough for 
the wind to blow it around."

"So you think maybe they won't have snow as an excuse to 
close the roads?"

"It's a long shot, but maybe.  We'll make it, Mulder."  She 
felt his gaze on her, and turned to look at him.  His eyes 
sparkled, and he tried to hide a smile, but failed.

"What?"

"Nothing."  He turned back to look through the windshield.

"Mulder, what is it?" He didn't answer right away.  
"Mulder?"

"Felt like old times again," he said, still looking out the 
window.

Finally, for a moment, she felt it, too.

^^^^^^^^^^^^

Near Sedona, Arizona
December 20, 2012
10:21 p.m.

Monica, John and Gibson sat around the kitchen table.  Each 
held a cup of coffee, but none of them had taken more than 
a sip.  They stared silently into the spaces in front of 
them, except for Gibson whose gaze fell upon Joy.  She was 
still in the living room watching every channel on 
television.  

They'd only caught glimpses of the news, but it seemed that 
a strange illness was sweeping through Arizona.  The 
hospitals were being inundated with people suffering with 
flu-like symptoms.  A few of the national television 
networks reported similar phenomena across the country.  
The Center for Disease Control requested that only the 
elderly or children be brought to hospitals due to 
limitations on medical staff and space.

Monica had just finished her story of how she had broken 
into the facility where Joy lived.  She told them how she 
had wanted to take the other eleven children, too, but had 
run out of time.  She told them of how Patti had begged 
Monica for help after Joy had been taken away from her upon 
reaching her tenth birthday, two years ago.  Without 
warning, men, who Patti assumed were from the government, 
had come into their home and taken the little girl without 
a word.

She knew that John was wrestling with the facts in his 
mind, sorting out the perception from the reality.  John 
Doggett was a black and white kind of guy.  Things either 
made sense, or they didn't.  Things that didn't make sense 
were classified as mumbo jumbo.  This had always frustrated 
Monica.  She thought of it as sticking your fingers in your 
ears and shouting "la la la la la!"  But she realized later 
that it wasn't so much that he didn't want to understand, 
he just couldn't understand.  He wasn't stupid; he just 
looked through the world using a different kind of prism.  
Actually, using no prism, just glass.

If Monica saw a rainbow, she'd wonder what it felt like to 
walk through it.  Show John Doggett a rainbow and he'd list 
each individual color he could see.  Show Dana Scully a 
rainbow and she'd describe the qualities of bent and 
transformed light, how the water disperses it into a 
beautiful spectrum of color.  Show Fox Mulder a rainbow, 
he'd ask to speak with the Leprechaun.

Different people saw things in different ways, and there 
was usually little anyone could do to change that.  
Ironically, it was just when Monica had figured this out, 
that she and John had parted ways.  Though, it wouldn't 
have mattered if she'd known sooner.

"You haven't told us yet, Monica.  Who killed the Super 
Soldier?"

"I have no idea," Monica said, raising her eyebrows.

"You have no idea?"

Monica shook her head.  

"You're sure no one else was there?  I doubt the thing had 
a heart attack and just keeled over on its own."

Monica shrugged.  "What can I tell you, John?  I don't have 
a clue.  I didn't spend any time trying to find out either.  
All I could think about was getting Joy out of there before 
more came looking for her."

"How do you know it's even dead?  We've seen them come back 
from some pretty amazing things before."

"I guess I don't.  He looked very dead, and I have no idea 
who or what killed him."

"Joy did," said Gibson.  He'd been quiet the whole time 
while Monica told her story.  His eyes had seemed vacant as 
he stared in Joy's direction.  

"Joy?  I don't think so," John said.  Monica saw the gears 
turn in John's mind.  He was probably thinking of Knowle 
Rohrer, a man he'd seen killed several times, but who 
always came back.  Monica herself had been with John when 
the last death finally took.  Super Soldiers were nearly 
indestructible.  She had seen them shot, decapitated and 
even turned into mulch.  No twelve-year old girl could stop 
them.  Even Monica had trouble believing that one.

Gibson remained seated, but he looked at John with certain 
eyes.  "Yes, she did.  She just told me."

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Rural Wyoming
Friday, December 21, 2012
5:58 am

The temperature outside the Van de Kamp house had dropped 
about ten degrees during the night.  A thin layer of heavy 
wet snow covered the yard like a tarp.  There was little 
wind and aside from an occasional cough, inside the house 
all was silent.  

Rob had been awake on and off all night.  Now he lay in his 
bed exhausted from intense shivering.  About ten minutes 
ago he'd made a decision.  He was taking Susan to the 
hospital.  He couldn't recall feeling as badly in all his 
life, but Susan hadn't been conscious since dinner the 
previous night.  She'd been awake for a short period of 
time at that, allowing Rob to help her drink some broth.  

If only he could get out of bed to get to a phone.  Rob 
wasn't sure he had the energy to do it, and panic was 
crawling throughout his body.  He closed his eyes for a 
moment, trying to muster the strength to call for William.  
He took a deep breath, and when he opened his eyes 
intending to shout for his son, William stood beside the 
bed, looking down at him with a somber face.  Startled by 
William's presence, Rob blew out the breath.

"Will, where did you come from?" Rob said, trying to smile.

"You wanted to talk to me," William said, sounding strange.  
He was calm; all traces of his fear were gone, or maybe 
just hidden beneath an eerie quiet exterior mask.  

"Did I call for you?  I don't remember," Rob asked bringing 
a hand to his sweating forehead.  William shook his head.  
He lifted his hand, and held out the cordless phone from 
the kitchen.

"I called the hospital like you wanted.  Nobody answered," 
William's voice shook slightly.

"How did you know I wanted to call the hospital?"  

"You said so.  I heard you inside my head."

"Inside your head?"  In spite of his weakness, Rob pushed 
himself up into a sitting position.  Either he was 
delirious with fever, or William had just told him he was 
hearing voices in his head.  Whichever it was, it wasn't 
good.  "Will, what are you talking about?"

"I know you don't believe me, dad.  I can hear your 
thoughts inside my head."  William turned away from his 
dad.  His somber fa‡ade melted away, and he sounded like a 
teenager worried about starting a new year of school.  This 
ability didn't seem to surprise, or frighten William, it 
just was.  To Rob, it seemed that William thought reading 
people's minds was as ordinary as brushing his teeth.    

William walked over to the wingback chair near the chest of 
drawers a few feet from his parent's bed.  He slumped down 
into it.  His eyes looked downward and he swung one foot 
back and forth, sliding it on the hardwood floor.  "I've 
been able to do it for a long time.  I didn't want to tell 
you or mom.  I was afraid you'd think I was crazy."

"Will, I'm not sure what you want, but it's not nice of you 
to trick me when I'm this sick."  Rob wondered if there had 
suddenly been a switch flicked inside his son that had 
turned him into someone else's child.  Rob had never heard 
of boys playing the telepathy card to gain something he 
wanted, but Rob supposed there was always a first time.  
William always had been a creative child.

"I knew you'd say that," William said.  He tapped his foot 
lightly on the floor like he was squashing a spider.  

"Will, I can't have this conversation right now."  Rob slid 
back down on the bed, too tired to hold himself up any 
longer.  Next to him, Susan inhaled deeply and let out a 
breath in a raspy gush of wind.  Rob turned over, and 
lifted his hand to his wife's forehead.  He pulled his hand 
back, wincing.  She was on fire.  He didn't think it was 
possible for a person to be that hot.  He noticed for the 
first time that she had developed several pink lesions on 
her face, resembling burn-marks.  He touched his own face, 
and could feel splotches of rough, sensitive skin all over.  

"Wait a minute.  Will, did you say that the hospital didn't 
answer when you called?"  There was one small hospital in 
town.  Locals were more likely to call their local doctor 
than 9-1-1.  Will had probably hit the speed dial.

"Yes.  I tried a couple of times."

"Did you call 9-1-1?"  William shook his head.  As Rob 
opened his mouth to speak, William jumped up and handed Rob 
the phone, answering his father's non-verbalized request to 
give it to him.  Rob took the handset from him, unsure what 
to say.  He could admit it was uncanny, but he wasn't ready 
to believe that William could read his mind.  Besides, 
right now he needed to get himself and his wife to an 
emergency room.  Mind-reading parlor tricks would have to 
wait.

Rob pressed the numbers on the telephone and moved the 
receiver to his ear.  Instead of ringing he heard the three 
toned beeps of a disconnected number followed by a recorded 
voice telling him to please check the number and dial 
again.  He turned the phone off and tried a second time.  
Same response. 

"9-1-1 is disconnected?"  He shouted, his voice cracking in 
exasperation.  He threw the phone at a pile of laundry in 
the corner of the room.  "What the hell is going on?"

Rob threw the covers off his body, and pushed himself up 
off of the bed.  Once on his feet, he wobbled momentarily 
and put his hand on William's shoulder to steady himself.  
William responded by wrapping his arms around his father, 
ignoring his small size in an effort to keep him upright.  

"Dad?" William asked, frightened.

"Will, I need you to help me find my car keys.  We need to 
take your mother to the hospital.  Can you do that for me, 
son?"  William emphatically nodded that he could, and broke 
away from his father, headed toward the door.  Rob heard a 
thump, and wondered if William had tripped on his way out 
of the bedroom.  From somewhere deep inside a dark tunnel, 
Rob heard his son pleading for him to get up, and he 
realized it was he who had fallen.  He wanted to take away 
William's distress, but he was powerless to oblige.  
Everything was becoming so peaceful to him. 

William's wails became more distant until finally there was 
only blackness.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

CHAPTER FIVE

Mulder sat at the edge of the dock.  His feet dangled over 
the side, reflecting in the rippled water below.  The sky 
above was brilliant blue, and occasionally a white puff of 
cottony cloud would blow over him, taking a leisurely tour 
of the upper hemisphere.  A slight wind blew around him, 
holding the already hot summer temperature at bay.  Two 
bobbers floated several feet in front of him in the water, 
lolling with the tide, as seagulls squawked overhead 
waiting for the humans to supply them with dinner, making 
their work a little easier.  The salt air filled Mulder's 
nostrils and he closed his eyes savoring the sensation of 
absolute peace.

Suddenly, one bobber plunged deeply into the water, making 
a soft 'ker-plunk' sound.  

"Dad!  Dad!  I got something!"  A boy leapt up from his 
seat beside Mulder, fishing pole in hand.  "Do you think 
it's a shark?"  He asked eagerly.  The boy tugged on the 
rod, and cranked the reel with blinding speed.

"Easy Will.  Don't pull too hard.  You don't want the line 
to break."  Mulder stood up, wanting to help his son, but 
also wanting to let him handle things on his own.  He 
looked back toward the shore, smiling from ear to ear at 
Scully who was lounging in a reclining beach chair, 
sunglasses on, wide brimmed hat covering her head.  She 
held a book in her hand and watched her boys with amused 
approval, trying to hide her own ridiculous smile.  

"It won't.  I got it."  William began reeling the fish in, 
even as it fought for its life.  Mulder cheered his son on 
in delight, laughing.  Finally, the fish emerged from the 
water.  It was relatively small, probably about three 
pounds, in spite of the fight it had put up suggesting 
otherwise.  After it was a foot above the water's surface, 
Mulder grabbed the net and leaned over to capture the fish 
before it broke the line.  

Before Mulder could get it properly positioned, a shark 
leapt from beneath the surface and chomped down on 
William's catch, pulling the little fish inside its huge 
jaws and breaking the boy's line before returning to the 
safety of the water below.  

"Whoa!"  Mulder sat back on his haunches, amazed.  

"Oh man."  The disappointment in William's voice made 
Mulder forget the thrill of what he had just witnessed, and 
he turned to console his son.

"It's okay, Will.  There'll be another one," Mulder said, 
putting his hand on William's shoulders.

But Will shook his head and sat back down on the dock.  He 
looked at his father, his face somber, but not tearful.  
"That was my last chance."

"No it wasn't.  We'll just get you another hook and you'll 
be all set."  Mulder ruffled the boy's hair.

"No.  They're coming for me," William said.  He turned to 
look at Mulder, and Mulder felt a chill go through his 
spine.  "Dad, you have to hurry."

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Near Sedona, Arizona
December 21, 2012 
3:24 am

Monica sat at the table, sipping her tepid cup of coffee, 
while staring absently out into the dark expanse of moon-
starved desert.  It was still raining, though not as 
heavily as it had been when she arrived less than twelve 
hours earlier.  There was an eerie sense of calm 
surrounding her as she sat listening to the sounds of her 
companions sleeping in the trailer nearby.  

Perhaps it was just numbness.

She'd awakened after two hours of fitful sleep and decided 
to give up the ghost.  If she only had a day or so left 
before it all ended, why should she waste her time 
sleeping?  Not that she could sleep anyway.  Last night's 
revelation was prickling her mind and she knew that it 
meant something greater than what she comprehended, but 
couldn't pinpoint what it was.  

Joy had killed the Super Soldier.  The little girl still 
had not spoken out loud, even after an hour of coaxing.  
Gibson was absolutely sure.  He hadn't guessed either and 
he hadn't simply read her mind to obtain the information.  
Joy had telepathically told him, and she knew he had heard 
her.

"Wild, isn't it?"  Gibson's soft tenor was dampened by the 
white noise of the rain outside, but Monica flinched 
nevertheless.  "Sorry.  I do that to people a lot."  

Gibson stood in what could be called the doorway to the 
kitchen from the living room, if there had been a door. It 
was really just the spot where the linoleum met the 
carpeting.  He wore a flannel bathrobe that made him look 
boyish, especially standing hunched slightly with his hands 
tucked inside the robe's deep pockets.  

"It's okay.  I was zoning out.  I didn't think anyone was 
awake."

"It's hard to sleep when the world is ending, don't you 
think?"

"Didn't I just say that?"

"No, you thought it, but I wouldn't know about that."   He 
smirked playfully and walked over toward the table, then 
pulled out a chair and sat beside Monica.

They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes.  
Though it was probably only truly silent for Monica.  All 
the flotsam floating in her mind was likely background 
radio noise for Gibson.  

She wondered what it was like for him.  They'd spent a 
little time together a long time ago.  It was after 
Mulder's resurgence from hiding and during a time Monica 
had come to think of as "the beginning of the end," as 
fatalistic as that sounded.  But she really never had a 
chance to get to know him.  She suspected that was somewhat 
intentional on his part.  When you know the innermost 
thoughts of every person around you, the only way to hold 
on to some semblance of privacy is to fiercely guard your 
own.  Also, when you're the key to the existence of 
mankind, the Holy Grail of the X-Files, always the target 
of manipulation and coveted by the forces of good and evil, 
you probably don't trust very easily.

"I trust you," Gibson said.  

Monica looked up at him, unsure whether to be intrigued, or 
feel invaded.  

"And I trust John," he said, then smiled awkwardly.  "I'm 
sorry again.  Sometimes it's difficult for me to separate 
thought from voice, especially when I'm not looking 
directly at a person."

"No, it's okay.  It just catches me off guard a little."  
She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it.  She tried 
to reword in her mind how to better phrase her question.  
"What's it like?  Do you ever go crazy from all the noise?  
I mean, people are always thinking, even in their sleep."

He took a moment, looking thoughtful.  

"It's hard to explain what it's like for me, just like it 
would be hard for you to explain silence to me.  When I was 
younger, maybe five or six years old, I began to understand 
that what I heard in my head were the thoughts of other 
people.  It frightened me, especially when I understood 
that this was not something everyone could do.  But the 
older I've gotten, the more conditioned I've become to it."

"It's not overwhelming?"  Monica couldn't imagine staying 
sane if she could never have quiet.  It would be like 
forever living in a cafeteria, with constant, never-ending 
chatter that was completely insignificant.  

"It was, but now it's more like... selective listening.  
I've heard that parents can tune out the noise of several 
kids playing in a room, but the minute their child calls 
for them, or cries, their parent's ears pick it up.  It's 
the same for me, I guess.  I can pinpoint what I want to 
listen to, and block everything else out," he said.  He 
smirked shyly, "It's harder for me to ignore voices when 
there are fewer people in a room around me."  

That made sense.  Monica had never been a parent, but she'd 
been around children a lot.  And there had been a few 
boyfriends she had used this skill on as well.  "Like a 
deep focus."

"Yes, exactly."

"Are you just a receiver, or can you also send... ah, 
signals?"

"I used to think that I could only pick up thoughts like a 
one way radio.  But during the time when I lived at the 
School for the Deaf, I became close friends with a hearing 
impaired girl.  She was totally deaf, and could speak very 
little.  I couldn't sign yet, but one day I wanted to ask 
her a question.  I had formed it in my head, and intended 
to write it down for her to read.  She answered me before I 
could find a pen."

"You don't think that perhaps she was just reading your 
mind?  That she was also telepathic?" 

"That's what I thought at first, but she was never able to 
do it again, except for when I wanted her to.  That was the 
first time I realized I had some control over it.  That I 
could direct a thought with my mind to another person."

Monica shifted a little in her seat.  Her eyes were wide, 
completely fascinated.  This was the kind of thing she had 
looked for her whole career, and the sad thing was she'd 
known for ten years of his abilities but had never bothered 
to ask him about them.  Why she hadn't talked to Gibson 
about this a long time ago was something she could not 
explain.  

No, she could explain it.  John had taken Gibson back to 
Arizona to protect him shortly after Mulder and Scully had 
"disappeared."  He had told her not to follow him, and she 
had listened.  

It hadn't happened like that exactly, but the end result 
was the same.  When John had returned to the bureau after 
an "extended leave of absence," she'd already been 
transferred to San Juan, working there for about a year 
before she resigned from the FBI.  They'd sent a few emails 
before she quit, and he'd even come out to see her once 
under the pretense of following a lead, but essentially 
that had been the last they'd really spoken to each other.  
When he finally quit a few years ago, Monica hadn't even 
found out about it until a few months after the fact, and 
that had been through a colleague of hers at her new job 
where she was a counselor at the Puerto Rican version of 
the Center for Missing and Exploited Children.

That John was here now with Gibson was actually somewhat of 
a surprise to her.  She'd come looking for Gibson, thinking 
that he would have a unique insight into Joy.   Monica 
thought that maybe he could help her learn what had 
happened. Come to think of it, she wasn't sure at the 
moment how she had known where to look for Gibson, either.  
She hadn't seen or had any contact with him in ten years.

She looked up at him.  "It was you, wasn't it?"  

Gibson shook his head, catching her meaning.  "No, I think 
it was Joy."

"Come again?  She didn't even know about you before 
yesterday."

"She called out... sent a signal.  I received it.  I 
answered it."

"I was under the impression that you could only hear those 
in close proximity to you.  I didn't think your abilities 
reached that far.  "

"They don't.  But hers do."

"So then what?  She knew you were here and then directed me 
with her mind to find you?"  She said, half-joking.

Gibson nodded.  As open as she was to believing in extreme 
phenomena, Monica was having trouble wrapping her brain 
around this one.  Not only was Gibson telling her that Joy 
was telepathic, but that she was some kind of super 
transmitter.  Looks like they'd better call a locksmith, 
because there was a new key to everything in the X-Files.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Western Nebraska
December 21, 2012
7:09 am

"Mulder?"  Scully reached over to touch his cheek.  He'd 
been mumbling in his sleep for several minutes and now he 
was mildly thrashing his head back and forth.  Thankfully 
he'd been asleep for most of the night because Scully's 
eyelids were getting heavier and heavier by the second.  
They needed to switch places unless they wanted to end up 
in the ditch with most of the other cars on the road.  
They'd stopped seeing emergency vehicles sometime after 
midnight.  They'd gotten out to check on one driver who'd 
gone off the road in a deserted stretch of Nebraska 
highway.  The car was cold; the accident clearly had 
happened quite a while before, but the driver was still 
hot.  He was also very dead.  

The man had lesions on his face and hands that resembled 
radiation burns -- burns similar to the type found on 
survivors of Hiroshima and Nagasaki.  If it was radiation, 
not a virus causing the deadly epidemic, Scully could not 
figure out for the life of her why she and Mulder were 
perfectly healthy.  Her serum would have little effect on 
preventing them from contracting radiation sickness.  Just 
to be safe, they'd decided not to stop and check on any 
more stranded drivers.  Both of them had already been 
exposed to the snow, which was clearly the carrier either 
way, but until they knew exactly what was going on, there 
was no need to risk unnecessary exposure to what had proven 
itself to be a lethal affliction.  

They neared the Wyoming border as the first light of day 
rose over the horizon on December 21.  It occurred to 
Scully that the closer she presumably got to her son, the 
more she realized she still imagined him as a baby.  He'd 
be approaching twelve years old soon; nearly a teenager, 
but in her mind's eye he would always be the innocent, mild 
mannered child that she loved with all her heart but could 
not protect.  And it made her heart ache more with each 
mile they moved closer to him.  She rarely let herself 
indulge in imagining what life would have been like if 
things had been different.  What if she and Mulder had been 
left alone, free to raise William like normal parents?  It 
was too painful to think of such things and normally she 
would force the thought out of her brain.

But every once in a while, she would let her mind drift to 
some random fictional day -- a holiday -- and she would 
picture waking up on Christmas morning.  Mulder would be 
seated next to William near the lighted tree, as they both 
inspected their cache noisily in an effort to wake her up 
so they could get on with the present pillage.  They 
wouldn't know that she had been spying on them, amused and 
content as her boys made piles of their spoils.  After a 
while, her own excitement to see William open his presents 
would move her into the family room and the wonderful sound 
of tearing paper and laughter would fill the room.

Scully shook her head, shaking the image out of her brain, 
out of her heart.  Things had not worked out that way.  Her 
fate, Mulder's fate and William's fate had taken them down 
another road, and she could not change the past no matter 
how hard her imagination tried.  It was time to meet this 
life's destiny head on.

"Mulder?  Wake up."  She gently squeezed his shoulder, 
keeping her voice soft.  She smiled at him as she flicked 
on the truck's blinker and veered off the road to the 
shoulder.  Not that there was need for such courtesy.  They 
were the only living souls on the highway, save for the 
random solo vehicle kicking up snow zooming past them.  The 
more she thought about it, the more it seemed strange.  
With all that had happened, they hadn't seen a single 
government or military vehicle on the road; nothing since 
the FEMA cadre in South Dakota, and a few minor wrecks 
shortly after.  "I need you to drive now."  

He blinked his eyes open, momentary confusion glossed over 
them like the shade on a window flying open, letting in the 
sunlight.  The glazed look in his eyes passed quickly and 
he sat up straight in the seat.  "Where are we?"

"We're close to Wyoming.  I think another hour or so and 
we'll cross the border.  I can't keep my eyes open though."

"Oh, okay."  He unbuckled his seat belt and they both 
exited the truck, crossing each other's path, but not 
touching, at the hood of the car.  A moment later, they 
were back on the road, driving slightly faster thanks to 
Mulder's lead foot.  

"You were dreaming," Scully said after a moment, hoping to 
coax him to talk.  Perhaps he was still groggy from his 
sleep, but he seemed sullen again, same as nearly every day 
for the past few months.  She didn't want him to revert 
back to that state, both for his own health and her sanity.  
Also, she honestly wanted to know about his dream.  

She decided to wait until later to discuss with him the 
lack of emergency crews and what that might mean.  Right 
now she wanted to talk to him, but not about their quest, 
if that's what it still was.  She just wanted to talk.  The 
past few months had pushed them farther apart more so than 
the past ten years combined, but she still loved him and 
she missed him.  Strange how being stuck with someone every 
day for a decade can make that person seem far away, in 
some ways more than if you had been physically apart.

"Yeah," he said.  His eyes stayed transfixed ahead of him 
and the firmness in his voice suggested to her that he 
expected a fight.  She couldn't blame him.  Both of them 
had built up their defenses fairly well.

"Tell me about it," she asked.  He made a gruff noise, but 
didn't speak.  "Mulder?  Please.  I really want to hear 
about it."  He turned toward her briefly, seeming to assess 
her sincerity.  It hurt her that she had done that to him; 
made him afraid of sharing his thoughts with her.  Truth 
was, she still wasn't convinced that William would be at 
the end of this road.  She wasn't sure if that was due to 
doubt in Mulder, or because of her own protective wall.  
"Please?"

He either decided she really wanted to hear, or he was just 
tired of this little dance they had perfected, because he 
sighed, bit his lower lip, and nodded.  "It was the dream 
where we're all on the dock and William and I are fishing."

"Mmm."  He'd told her of this dream before.  It was a 
pleasant one, and she could almost see it as clearly as he 
did by now.  It reminded her of her own childhood, of her 
father teaching herself and her brothers how to catch 'the 
big one' while her mother and Melissa lounged on the beach, 
catching rays in the days before the concerns of skin 
cancer.  It was a sweet memory of childhood that she longed 
to emulate with her own family one day.  "I like that one."

"This time it was different.  William caught a fish, but 
then a shark jumped out of the water and ate his fish."

"Sounds exciting."  She closed her eyes, letting the images 
relax her and allowing the feeling of contentment lull her 
to sleep.

"I suppose.  Except then he said something to me.  I think 
it was the *real* William talking."  Scully opened her eyes 
and turned toward him, breaking the spell of the fantasy.  

"What did he say?"

"That we're running out of time and he needs us, now."

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Rural Wyoming
December 21, 2012
10:06 am

As the truck crept forward, the driver was mindful of 
alerting the occupants of the two-story farmhouse of his 
arrival.  The vehicle's lights and engine were off and it 
coasted the last few yards of the long dirt driveway in 
neutral.  The driver and his companion looked towards each 
other, each silently wondering if this was the place.  With 
a nod, the driver told the other it was, and he applied the 
vehicle's brake and brought it to a full stop.  

They stealthily exited the vehicle and walked cautiously 
toward the front door, passing a half installed basketball 
hoop along the way.  It seemed every light was on in the 
house, but little sound could be heard from the people they 
presumed were inside it.  

It was the moment of truth.  The boy they had searched for 
a long time was now within their reach, and so was the 
power he possessed.  The tall one, the driver, opened the 
screen door to the house, pushed open the storm door and 
walked inside.  He heard what sounded like crying coming 
from somewhere upstairs.  As soon as he made that 
connection, the crying stopped and the house was graveyard 
quiet.  The driver nodded to his partner to follow him and 
they both started towards the hallway leading to the 
stairway.  

At the top of the landing, one of the bedroom doors was 
open.  A tiny swoosh of wind came from inside that room.  
The driver motioned for his partner to wait at the top of 
the stairs, while he continued down the hallway toward the 
bedroom alone.  He pushed the door the rest of the way open 
and stepped inside the master bedroom.  Inside the room 
lying on the bed, was a woman who looked to be asleep, and 
on the floor was an unconscious man.  The boy knelt next to 
him on the floor clutching the man's shirt.  The boy, his 
face tear-streaked, looked up at the driver with fear.  
This brought sorrow to the driver's heart.  Surely the boy 
would know he was there to protect him.

"Is he in there?"  The driver's partner called from outside 
the room, impatient to wait any longer.  

"Yes.  Wait there for another minute," he called.  Then he 
turned back toward the boy and tried to soften his posture.  
Perhaps he seemed more menacing than he felt.  This was, 
after all, just a twelve-year old child, and he was a big, 
strong, adult the boy had never met before.  "Hello, 
William.  I'm very pleased to meet you."  

The boy stared at him, like a deer caught in the 
headlights.  The driver stepped closer.  As he did so, 
William slid back, still clutching the shirt of the man on 
the floor.  His action was more from instinct than 
conscious thought.  "Don't be afraid.  We're here to help 
you," the driver said.  William shook his head back and 
forth, but did not speak.

Again, the driver's partner called from the hall, "I'm 
coming in there."  Before the driver could protest, his 
partner stepped around him through the doorway.  "We're 
running out of time."  William's eyes jumped quickly to the 
new face coming towards him.  If he was afraid of the 
driver, he was terrified of the other.

After stepping into the room towards the boy, the driver's 
partner began to shake violently.  His arms and head 
flailed wildly, shrouded in pain.  With a gasp, the motion 
stopped, and the driver's partner lay on the floor 
completely still.

The driver stood gaping at his friend, completely stunned 
by what had just happened.  He looked to William, pleading 
with him with his eyes, wanting an explanation for what had 
just taken place.  The boy seemed to be in a state of 
surprise, bordering on shock.  The driver bent over and 
felt for a pulse of the man who lay on the floor.  There 
was none.

"He's dead."  The driver looked upwards toward the ceiling, 
and lifted his hands up as if offering up a sacrifice to 
God.  "I don't understand.  I thought you'd be pleased.  
We've found him.  Quetzalcoatl has returned."

"What is going on?  Who the hell are you?"  The other man, 
the formerly unconscious man, whom the driver assumed was 
William's earthly father began to shout as he struggled to 
get to his feet.

The driver, now in a state of shock himself, looked at 
William's father, confusion plastered all over his face.  
He moved his gaze back and forth between William and the 
father.  "My name is Liam.  I've come so that your son can 
take his rightful place at the side of God."

"What?"  The father's voice boomed, even as his face 
dripped with sweat and his body shivered.  He glanced down 
at the floor, seeing the body of the Liam's partner, and 
his mouth gaped open at the horror of the scene in front of 
him.  "How did you get in here?"

William's father turned around toward the nightstand next 
to his side of the bed, and opened the drawer.  He reached 
inside and pulled out a six shot revolver and pointed it at 
Liam.  "Stay there!" he said.

"Please, I'm here to help."  Liam held his hands up in a 
posture of surrender, confused.  Why should they fear him?  
Was he not the messenger of God?  Was he not here to 
protect the Serpent King, the Great Unifier, the boy who 
would lead them all to peace and the dawning of the coming 
new age?  Liam took a step towards William in spite of his 
father's command, hands still raised.  

"I said don't move!"  Rob bellowed.

Liam stopped in his tracks and lowered his head as tears 
spilled down his cheeks.  Everything had gone wrong.

^^^^^^^^^^

Washington, D.C.
December 21, 2012
12:01 pm

"Where's the damn status report?"  The man punched at a 
button on the speakerphone, and it clicked off.  He tapped 
his fingers rhythmically on the large, heavy oak desk, and 
in his mouth his tongue twirled a wooden toothpick between 
his teeth while he waited for his sorry excuse for a 
project manager to give him what he had requested an hour 
ago.

Toothpick Man heard the distinctive sound of knuckles 
wrapping tentatively on the other side of the door 
separating his office from the hallway, quickly followed by 
someone behind the door trying to stifle a cough.

"Get in here!"  The Toothpick Man had little patience for 
delays, and he had no desire to coddle inept performers 
this late in the game.  Everything he'd been working 
towards for over a decade was about to come to fruition.  

The door to the office opened quickly and a shorter man, 
about five foot, six inches tall, walked through it.  He 
clutched half a ream's worth of papers as he shuffled his 
feet inside.  His brow was glazed with sweat, and the 
Toothpick Man would have laughed out loud if he hadn't been 
so preoccupied with the content of that stack of papers.

"Well?"  The Toothpick Man walked around the big desk to 
stand in front of it.  This move made the shorter man take 
a step backward.  He no longer had the buffer of the wooden 
desk and the Toothpick Man delighted in the discomfort he 
inflicted on his subordinate.  "Spill it, Davis."  

Davis cleared his throat.  "Phase One has progressed more 
rapidly than we had anticipated.  The pathology of the 
virus is a little over twenty-four hours for total 
biological systems failure."

"What percentage are we looking at?"

"Well, it's still early, but it seems the virus infects 
about ninety percent.  Death rates are harder to ascertain 
at this time, but it should be pretty close to the same.  
Their immune system creates very little resistance.  If 
they get it, they will die."

"Will we be ready to go to Phase Two on time?"  This was 
the heart of what he wanted to know.  This plan had been 
set in motion longer than he had been alive - as a human or 
in his enhanced form.  If the Toothpick Man believed in 
mythology, he could say the plan existed since the dawn of 
human history on earth.  But he really didn't care for 
mythology or religion, one way or the other.  What he knew 
was that he was in charge of the North American Continent 
Operations, and if he screwed it up, he might as well take 
an iron bath.

"We should be ready, sir," Davis said, stuttering slightly 
as he tried to spit out the words.  He raised a shaky hand 
and scratched at the back of his neck, rubbing the bumpy, 
protruding bone there.  

"Should be?"  The Toothpick Man growled.  How Davis had 
been chosen for this project was a mystery.  The man, even 
if he was a Beta Hybrid was completely incompetent and a 
sissy to boot.  If the Toothpick Man had the option, the 
subordinate would have been sent to the laboratory for 
vaccine experiments. Hopefully, he'd be tested on a bad 
batch.  The Toothpick Man didn't have that option, however.  
Davis was special.  Toothpick Man clenched his jaw as the 
thought came to him.  If he was forced, the Toothpick Man 
would have to admit that Davis was more significant than he 
was, at least to the Grays they both reported to.  He had 
been hand picked and then transformed, and it would take an 
act of God to remove Davis from the project. Literally.

At least for now, Davis reported to him, a lowly Gamma 
Hybrid.  Toothpick man hoped Davis appreciated the irony in 
that.  It probably had escaped him.

Davis cleared his throat.  "Will be ready, sir.  I meant, 
we *will* be ready."  

"Good," Toothpick Man said.

"In fact, the operation will probably be much easier than 
we anticipated.  The wide-spread panic we predicted hasn't 
happened.  There are small pockets, but most of those have 
been handled with little incident.  The fact is, most 
people are either too sick, or have family members who are 
too sick to cause any trouble.  Ah... there is one small 
problem, however."

The Toothpick Man, who had just felt relaxation creep up on 
him a little, grumbled.  If it were so small of a problem, 
Davis would be able to handle it on his own.  Or, should be 
able to handle it on his own.  He was talking about a Beta 
who was still afraid of spiders.  

"What small problem?"

"Most of the survivors are showing up in geographically 
unsafe areas.  We'd planned on that, but what we didn't 
plan on was the speed of infection. Consequently, most of 
the human forces, such as FEMA and the military have 
suffered severe reduction.  I don't know that we'll be able 
to send those groups in to pull the survivors out of the 
Iron Saturation Zones.  The survivors could be embedded 
there and there's not much we can do about it short of 
bombing everything.  We don't have the manpower, not with 
all the defections."

"You mean treason," he said, gruffly, his teeth clenched 
together.  This was a very, very sore point.  "The option 
to bomb is still on the table."

"Sir?  That would eliminate infrastructure.  It would cause 
too much damage.  That's not part of the plan."

"Why do we need the infrastructure anyway?  It's all crap," 
Toothpick Man said, waving his hand in front of him, 
somewhat bored by Davis' concerns.

"It's not part of the plan, sir.  I don't think we -"

"Calm down, Davis.  I was only joking," he knew Davis was 
right.  "Kinda," he added.  He couldn't fathom why it was 
so important to save all structures.  Of course, it would 
be nice to not have to clean up giant messes, but if the 
destruction was only in isolated pockets, who the hell 
should care?  He certainly didn't.  When all of this was 
over, he planned on heading west to Los Angeles -- or what 
would be left of it -- and taking a much-earned retirement.  
He'd move into a former celebrity's house in Malibu and 
listen to the sound of the sea.  For now, he still had 
plenty of work to do before that dream could come true.

"What about the kids?"

"The kids, sir?"  Davis could be so dense.  

The kids.  The children.  The Twelve.  They were only the 
most significant commodities on the planet, possibly the 
galaxy.  The children were the keys to their ability to 
colonize the planet.  Those kids.  After a moment of silent 
staring between the two men, if one could still call them 
that, a light flicked on in Davis's brain.  Synapses fired, 
and he finally understood the question.  "Oh, the Children. 
I'm sorry, sir.  So far, there has been no reaction to the 
virus.  Of course, we lost our control subject, so--"

The Toothpick Man scowled.  If there was one hitch in the 
operation, that was it.  One of the Twelve had been 
kidnapped.  It just so happened she had been the only 
control subject among them, which made things complicated.  
Someone had been sent after her, but he had not returned 
and they'd lost all contact with him.  It was going to be 
difficult to determine what effect an immunized Alpha 
Hybrid would have on the final release of the virus.  

Preliminary studies did not look good.

That was out of the Toothpick Man's control, now.  He could 
only concentrate on following the plan from this point on, 
and he intended to make it perfect.  "I want another update 
in one hour."

"Yes sir.  Do you want us to move the start of Phase Two 
up?"

The Toothpick Man's brow knotted into what looked like a 
painful jumble of flesh.  He took a deep breath so that he 
could calm down the sudden reflux of anger that stirred in 
his stomach, and leaned back on the edge of his desk.  He 
placed his hands on either side of himself to support his 
weight.  "No, I do not want us to move up the start of 
Phase Two.  You may want to re-read the plan Davis, but 
this operation is coordinated world wide and the date has 
been set for..." the Toothpick Man smiled, his jaw clenched 
and his lips barely moved as he nodded his head, "... a 
very long time."

"Right.  Of course, I'm sorry, sir.  I'll report back in an 
hour."  

Davis turned on his heels and headed back toward the office 
door, no doubt relieved to move into the relative safety of 
the hallway.  

Once Davis had pulled the door shut behind him, the 
Toothpick Man walked back around the desk and opened the 
middle drawer. He pulled out a rectangular box made of 
cardboard which opened on a paper hinge. He pulled out a 
cigar, tore off the cellophane wrap, and bit off one end.   
He sat down in his chair, reclined back a bit, and lifted 
his feet up, placing them on the desk with a deep thud.  
Everything was going smoothly, in spite of the earlier 
setbacks.  With any luck, he'd be choosing one of the newly 
vacant homes on the west coast within the month.  

Then he could finally relax in absolute peace.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^

PART TWO

CHAPTER SIX

Lake Tahoe
Spring 2008

The snow had receded to almost a third of the way up the 
mountain slope, yet the cool spring air felt as if winter 
had not yet said its farewell.  Some of the mountain passes 
were still closed to car traffic, and skiers continued to 
flock to the slopes in a desperate, last ditch effort to 
ride the great white surf.  Cocooned by craggy formations, 
the lake's sparkling water reminded Mulder of a Catholic 
baptismal fountain, seemingly protecting tears shed from 
Heaven.  Scully once told him she did not think there could 
be a more beautiful place on earth, or one that was closer 
to God, than Lake Tahoe.  She must have been rubbing off on 
him, because Mulder had to agree.

Scully and Mulder had spent nearly a year there, almost 
five years after they began their lives as fugitives--as 
people without names.  They'd managed to find a small cabin 
for cheap rent on the Nevada side, close enough to the 
glitz of South Tahoe, yet far enough away to go unnoticed.

Mulder opened the door to the cabin, and quickly stepped 
inside.  "I got it," he said.  He held up a small manila 
envelope, and waved it back and forth in the air.  "We 
should be good for a while with this."

Mulder closed the cabin door behind him and the latch 
clicked loudly as it caught.  He strode toward Scully, shed 
his nylon windbreaker, and dropped it on the floor.  She 
sat on the sofa, which faced a large picture window.  The 
window framed an evergreen covered slope that slid down 
toward the shore, giving them a splendid view of the lake 
and the white-capped mountains surrounding them.  Scully 
set her tea down on the coffee table, and twisted her body 
around to face Mulder.

"Was there a note?"  Mulder could tell she was trying to 
hide the eagerness in her voice, to sound casual.  Scully 
picked at a non-existent thread in the sofa, giving away 
her anxiousness and Mulder suppressed a smile.  He didn't 
want to find joy in her anxiety, but he found her very cute 
when she tried to appear nonchalant.  

It had been almost eight months since Scully's mother had 
managed to send them a personal message along with the cash 
she had been smuggling to them.  Because of a financial 
arrangement Mulder had made before William's birth, the two 
of them had little need to earn money, which was good 
because life on the run made holding down a normal job very 
difficult.  Unfortunately, not working only compounded 
their seclusion from the rest of the world, making the rare 
letter from her mother feel like a holiday to Scully, 
better than winning the lottery.

"Mulder?  A note?" Mulder frowned, furrowed his brow.  
Scully sighed and lowered her gaze to her hands resting on 
her lap, her enthusiasm fading.  

When he could bear to torture her no longer, Mulder's lips 
curled up into a smile, and he pulled a small piece of 
white paper from inside the envelope.  He walked closer to 
her, and sat down beside her on the sofa.  

"I'm sorry," he whispered, as he placed the note in her 
hand.  "I was just teasing."

Scully's eyes lit up as she closed her hand around the 
letter.  She pulled Mulder into a tight embrace, made a bit 
awkward by their positions on the sofa.  She wrapped her 
arms around his neck, and pressed her lips lightly on the 
sensitive, goose-fleshed skin there.  He leaned into her, 
and his hands found their way to her back, where they 
traced lazy lines soothingly.  

"I'm not mad," she said, after a moment.  Her voice was 
low, muffled by his body.  "I wasn't expecting a note 
anyway."  She pulled away from him to look into his eyes.  
Her fingertips lingered on the back of his neck, teasing 
the fine downy hairs.  She smiled to reassure him and 
leaned in for a gentle kiss on his lips.  The contact was 
brief, but tender, making a soft popping sound on the 
release.

"What does it say?" she asked.  "Did you read it?"  

"It's your letter, Scully.  I got as far as 'Dear Dana' and 
stopped," he said.

"Mulder, I don't mind if you read my mother's letters.  She 
usually has as much to say to you as she does to me."

"I know," he said, not even fooling himself.  "I didn't 
want to intrude on your family."

Scully tilted her head slightly to the side, and moved her 
hand to his cheek.  "Mulder, you're my family too.  My 
mother feels that way just as much as I do."  She rubbed 
the short stubble on his face and spoke in a low voice.  
Mulder loved when she used that tone.  He thought of it as 
her bedroom voice, though he bet that if other guys heard 
it, they would not conjure up an image of porn-star.  Her 
voice was low and melodic, rich, filled with oak-barrel 
smoke making it sensual, not quite sex kitten.

Of course, he wouldn't object if the sex kitten voice ever 
made an appearance, either.

He lowered his lashes and curved his mouth into a crooked 
smile.  No matter how many times Scully told him he was her 
family or no matter how many times Scully's mother asked 
about him in her encrypted letters, Mulder could never get 
past the memory of Bill Scully, Jr. calling him an ass.  Or 
was it a sonofabitch?  It was hard to keep track sometimes.

When it came to Scully's family, Mulder always felt he was 
on the outside looking in.  Being on the run had made 
traditional Scully Family Christmas mornings and Easter 
brunches a bit difficult to keep up.  He was sure her 
family blamed him for that.  He knew Scully loved him, but 
their unusual relationship and lifestyle kept the word 
family out of his lexicon.  He still thought of them as 
partners.  Even though they had a child together, and he 
thought of Scully as the most significant person he would 
ever know, his soul mate even, he wasn't sure that they 
would ever be a family.  

Especially since that one thing -- that child between them 
-- had only been in their mutual presence for less than one 
week out of eight years.  

"Mulder?  You know that, right?" Scully asked, jolting him 
from his thoughts.

Scully tilted his face up with her fingertip, gently 
prodding his chin, trying to convince him of something he 
wasn't sure he could ever believe, or wasn't ready to 
believe.  The key was to distract her, so he leaned in for 
another long kiss.  "I'm going to take a shower," he said 
after, his face still close.  

He shifted his body, tried to push himself off of the sofa.  
Scully's hand held his forearm, pulling him back down to 
his seat.  "Read it to me," she said.

"Scully, it's okay," he said, wanting to give her some 
privacy.  "You can tell me about it later.  Take your 
time."

"You're much better at deciphering the code than I am," she 
said, daring him.  "It will take me twice as long, and I 
always have to use a pen and paper.  Please?  Save me some 
time?"  She smiled mischievously and raised an eyebrow.  

Years ago, they'd developed a fairly complex code system.  
Actually, Langly had developed it, and Mulder and Scully 
had learned it.  That was years before Super Soldiers and 
being on the lam.  Mulder had simply been paranoid then, 
with no real evidence to back up his conspiracy theories.  
Scully had humored him at first, but then when she'd lost 
interest in improving her skills, he began re-writing case 
notes she'd written into code, or RingoText, as Byers had 
dubbed it, and leaving the notes for her to discover. He 
would leave personal messages in her briefcase, in her car, 
even in email letters.  She never admitted it to him, but 
he suspected she enjoyed his unusual way of forced 
tutoring.  

He was particularly fond of one memorable lesson involving 
melted chocolate, a swizzle stick and less clothing than 
Scully would ever admit to in front of a grand jury.

The code made it possible for Mulder and Scully to 
communicate with a few trusted individuals without using a 
telephone.  Any intercepted message would appear to be 
gibberish to whoever found it.  So far, it had worked, 
though a couple of times the code proved to be a bit too 
complex.  Mulder wasn't sure if it was Skinner, her mother, 
Scully or himself who had screwed up the deciphering, but 
the result had been no cash pickup.

They'd eaten a lot of mac' and cheese that month.  

Shortly before William was born, Mulder had liquidated all 
of his assets, and stuffed them into a Swiss bank account.  
He wanted to ensure that no matter what happened to him, 
William and Scully would be taken care of.  He created a 
fake identity using a few of the skills he'd learned from 
the Lone Gunmen.  The bank account was set up to 
automatically deposit monthly sums into the account of a 
third party benefactor.  The idea was to make it look like 
a trust fund, or a stipend.

He had chosen Scully's mother, Margaret, as the lucky 
benefactor, since it was easy to make it look as if the 
money was coming from the late Captain Scully's estate, 
doled out in small increments to avoid unnecessary 
attention.    

According to the plan, after receiving the monthly 
*inheritance,* Mrs. Scully would pass it along to her 
daughter, all in cash, of course.  When Scully had been 
forced to go on the run with him, Mulder had to come up 
with an alternate plan.  It had been a risky idea, but 
they'd decided to mail Mrs. Scully the key to Langly's 
code.  Since then, she'd been mailing cash to pre-arranged 
post office boxes throughout the country as Mulder and 
Scully traveled.

So long as they didn't spend frivolously, Mulder and Scully 
would have enough money to last them for several more 
years, at least until the impending date of Colonization 
arrived.  God willing, it would last them beyond that 
*uneventful* date.  

Scully cleared her throat, smiled, engaging him in the 
silent challenge.  He could read the code faster than she 
could, but they both knew he wasn't that much better.  

To take the bait, or not to take the bait?  That was the 
question.

The letter was short, as usual.  It was too tedious to 
write anything longer than a page or two using code.  
Unlike Maggie Scully, who used a decoder key to help her 
turn English into RingoText, Mulder effortlessly translated 
in his head.  He read slightly slower than he would a 
normal letter, but to a person who didn't listen to him 
read often, it would barely be noticeable.  

Mrs. Scully spoke of missing them both enormously.  She 
prayed for their safety, and for the day when they could 
come home.  Soon, she hoped, all the usual things to say 
when you haven't seen your daughter in more than six years.  
One of the hardest things for her mother, according to the 
note, was constantly lying to the boys, meaning Bill Jr., 
and Charlie.  To most of the world, Fox Mulder and Dana 
Scully were presumed dead, killed in a fatal explosion in 
New Mexico shortly after breaking Mulder out of jail.  That 
was the official FBI report.  Of course, the line between 
official and unofficial was all about who wrote the report.  

The last thing Scully's mother wrote about was Bill's new 
baby.  Her mother hadn't mentioned Bill's wife Tara was 
pregnant in her last communication.  She must not have 
known.  At any rate, the couple had a girl now, a baby 
sister to their son Matthew.  They named her Dana Melissa, 
but they still hadn't decided what they would actually call 
her.  They'd been calling her Katy, for a reason Maggie 
wasn't sure of, so unless things changed, it was likely 
that would be the name that stuck.  

Her Christening was in a week.

Mulder finished the letter, folded it neatly back along the 
creases and handed it to Scully.  She took it slowly, and 
brought her hands down to her lap, where she absently 
twirled the note with her fingers.  If she had been excited 
earlier about getting the message from her mom, she now 
seemed equally as sad.  

"I didn't think they could have more children.  I know they 
tried to have Matthew for a long time," Scully said 
quietly.  

Mulder scooted closer to her, and laid back on the sofa, 
pulling her with him.  Her head rested on his shoulder, and 
she moved one hand to his leg, gently caressing his inner 
thigh through his jeans.  

They sat there silently for several moments.  Mulder didn't 
have to be a genius to understand the thoughts that must 
have been going through Scully's mind.  He was sure her 
thoughts weren't far off from his anyway.  Just as they had 
danced around their feelings for each other in the early 
days of their FBI partnership, these days they danced 
around the missing part of their family.  

Correction:  Their missing son.  

Not that they never spoke of him, or of the adoption.  It 
was quite the opposite.  Much of their time was spent 
looking for William, especially as Scully made progress on 
a serum which could potentially fight the coming Plague.  

They talked about him, but not about how they *felt* about 
him.  If they discussed their grief over being separated 
from their son, it was rare.  

"Do you think Matthew wishes he'd gotten a little brother, 
instead?"  

"I don't know.  Little sisters aren't so bad," Mulder said.  
He rested his chin on top of Scully's head, and smiled 
slightly into her hair.  "They tend to idolize their big 
brothers." 

Scully huffed out a small laugh.  "I certainly idolized 
Bill, believe it or not," she said.  Scully inhaled deeply, 
and her breath quivered as she let it out.  "If I had sent 
William to stay with Bill, Matthew would have a brother and 
a sister."

"Scully..." Mulder sat up, twisted his body so that he 
could face her.  "Don't."

"What?"

"Don't play the 'what if' game."

"Don't you ever think about it, Mulder?  You must.  You 
didn't even get to decide."  Tears welled up in Scully's 
eyes and trickled down her cheek.  It had been a long time 
since she'd cried over William, as far as Mulder knew.  The 
past year had actually been a fairly happy one for them.  
They were living in a beautiful place, they had each other, 
and they still had plenty of time.  Emotional evasion could 
be a wonderful thing.

Mulder wasn't sure what she wanted him to say.  Did he 
think about it?  Sure he did.  If he had been strong enough 
to face up to the forces that threatened him back then, 
they'd still have their son.  They'd be oblivious to the 
future, and Scully would still have her mother; her family.  
He couldn't say he thought she made the right choice.  But 
the hell if he knew what the right choice had been.  The 
'what if' game only had losers, so he preferred not to 
play.  Not today.  

Instead of telling her all of that, he kissed her--hard.

And she kissed him back.

It may have taken them seven years to attempt this form of 
discussion in the first place, but since going on the run, 
they'd perfected it.  

Make love, not talk.

Mulder's hands moved through her hair, massaging her scalp 
as his lips and tongue roamed the skin below her ear, her 
throat and mouth.  She pulled him against her body, 
grasping his head just below the hairline, laying them both 
back onto the sofa.  Her right leg draped languidly over 
the edge of the sofa and Mulder shifted, better dispersing 
his weight above her, trying not to allow his full mass to 
press her into the oversized cushions.  

He flinched infinitesimally when her warm hands found their 
way under his shirt and onto the sensitive skin of his 
stomach, tugging the shirt up with them.  He paused the 
hungry exploration of her lips for a moment, sitting up to 
pull his white cotton t-shirt off.  He growled as he tossed 
the shirt towards the window, where it fell into a heap on 
the floor.  The scene outside the cabin was beautiful and 
it felt to Mulder like they were floating above the clouds.

But he only looked outside for a moment.

Mulder straddled her hips, helping her sweater meet the 
same fate his t-shirt had, then he crushed her again with 
the full length of his body.  With the sensation of skin 
touching skin, his need to feel her intensified, and he 
welcomed it when she clawed at his back, marking him.  

"Mulder..." she gasped, as his mouth made contact with her 
breast.  And that was the moment all thought left him.  
Whatever they had been discussing before was irrelevant.  
There was only sensation and desire, woven within pain and 
pleasure, two emotions that were paradoxically the same.

When it was over, they lay with their legs tangled 
together, quiet, breathing deeply.  Mulder wrapped his arms 
around Scully, and she curled against him, partially on the 
sofa, and partially covering his long body.  She was 
nestled along the taut Latissimus muscles covering the 
sides of his ribs.  Her hand smoothed back and forth over 
his stomach, tracing the line of sparse hair from his chest 
to his navel.  

Not knowing what else to say, he asked her if she was cold.  
She said that she wasn't.  

"Thirsty?"

"No," she said.

"Can I get you anything?"

She closed her eyes as sleep pressed against her lids.

"I'm fine."

He knew she was lying, but he didn't call her bluff.  
Instead, he let sleep claim him, too.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Wyoming Badlands
December 21, 2012
7:20 am

The early morning wind blew in strong gusts and Scully 
pulled her hair back from her face as she looked down to 
the beautiful landscape below.  Worn out hills of crumbling 
clay rolled over the earth as far as she could see, seeming 
to stretch for eternity through the horizon.  She stood 
near a National Park Service sign informing her that long 
ago bands of Lakota roamed the land hunting massive herds 
of buffalo until the white pioneers nearly caused their 
extinction, both of the buffalo and the Native people.  The 
sun barely peeked above the horizon and Scully wrapped her 
arms around her body trying to keep the winter morning 
chill away.

Behind her stood a concrete building, which was basically 
just a large restroom and vending area.  A sign proclaimed 
that one could get visitor information at a booth within, 
but nobody was manning the desk today.  Maybe it was too 
early, but Scully guessed that it was closed for business 
indefinitely.  

After using the facilities, she had come outside while 
Mulder tried to filch peanut M&M's and some potato chips 
from the vending machine.  He'd run out of sunflower seeds 
somewhere in Nebraska and had begun to show symptoms of 
withdrawal.  A fidgety and irritable Mulder always made a 
long drive oh-so-enjoyable.  

It felt good to stretch her legs.  It seemed like most of 
the past ten years had been spent inside of a car, even 
before that, and somehow standing above this beautiful vast 
valley reminded her of how much of her life she had missed.  
She and Mulder had been on the run, but she still felt 
imprisoned.  

She wanted to go home.

She missed her mother and her brothers, and now more than 
ever she worried about their safety.  Part of her wondered 
if it wouldn't have been wiser to drive east rather than to 
Wyoming.  Mulder believed that William was waiting for them 
here, but Scully could not be sure.  What she knew was that 
her mother was alive and well, and she had already seen 
what this virus could do.

Guilt gnawed at her.  Given the choice, she was more 
willing to chase a phantom William than save her own living 
mother.  She felt terrible, but as much as she doubted what 
was at the end of this journey, she knew she would not turn 
back now.

"Hey Scully," Mulder called, his feet crunching on the 
parking lot gravel.  "Ready to go?"

She twisted her body around and gave him a slight smile, 
nodding her head.  The pockets of his coat bulged 
significantly, presumably loaded with more than just a bag 
or two of candy.    In his hands he carried two paper cups, 
and Scully could see steam rising from their brims.  

When he reached her, he handed her one of the cups filled 
with light brown coffee almost the color of cinnamon.

"It's from a vending machine, so don't blame me if it's 
undrinkable," he said, smirking.

"Thank you.  I'm sure it's fine," she said, bringing the 
cup to her lips, blowing gently on the hot liquid.  She 
turned back to the view in front of her, and he stood 
alongside her, looking out.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" she said, taking a sip.

"Yeah," he said.  She noticed him glancing between the 
expansive view and her.  "Are you okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine," she said, then sighed when she saw his 
skeptical expression.  "I was thinking about my mother."  
She turned back to look straight ahead.  

"You're worried about her?" he asked, more of a statement 
than a question. 

"This virus, Mulder," she said, shaking her head, "It's so 
fast." 

"We mailed her the stuff.  I'm sure she's fine," he said.

"What if she never got it?  Or didn't understand what it 
was?" she said.  "We didn't even try to call her.  She's 
probably terrified."

"I'm sure she understands," Mulder said without much 
emotion.  

"How can she when I don't even understand?"

Mulder kicked a small stone away from his boot and pursed 
his lips together.  "Are you saying you want to go back?" 
he asked, tension filling his voice.

She didn't turn to face him, just continued to stare 
straight ahead onto the ancient country below.  "No, I 
don't.  I just feel that no matter which way I go, I'm not 
doing enough.  Either way, we lose.  When is it our turn to 
win, Mulder?"

He didn't answer.  They stood silently for a moment, 
neither of them sipping the rest of their coffee.  Finally, 
Mulder cleared his throat.

"We better go.  We're getting close," he said.  He threw 
the remaining coffee into the nearby bushes, threw the cup 
into an overflowing trash bin, and headed back to the 
truck.  

Soon after, Scully followed him.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Near Sedona, Arizona
December 21, 2012
4:12 pm

"Anything good on?"  Doggett's own voice felt rough from 
sleep.  Monica twisted around in her seat on Gibson's worn-
out couch, cracking the bones in her spine to see him.  His 
face, peppered with much more than a five o'clock shadow, 
itched.  He needed a shave, but instead, he scratched his 
hair adding to its bed-head chaos. 

"Nothing really on at all, actually," Monica said.

He glanced over at Joy who slept in a La-Z-boy recliner 
adjacent to the end of the sofa.  He moved his eyes past 
her, to the window.  The rain had let up.  It was still 
drizzling, but the heavy downpour had ended for the time 
being.  "Where's Gibson?" he asked.  

"He decided to take a drive, scout the surrounding area," 
she said.  "He wanted to look for anything that might be 
suspicious."  There weren't any neighbors for miles, just 
desert, cactus and rattlesnakes, but the kid had a sixth 
sense about these things, literally.  Doggett felt his 
stomach roll at the thought of what Gibson might find out 
there.  

When he didn't respond, Monica turned back toward the 
television.  The screen depicted several thick horizontal 
colored stripes indicating a lost feed on whatever channel 
Monica had the satellite tuned to.  She pointed the remote 
control at the set and flicked through a few channels until 
she came upon a good feed.  

"A few international channels still work.  We can get all 
the news in Siberia, of all places.  Do you speak Russian?" 
she asked and Doggett shook his head.  "And there's a 
couple of local stations still up, but that's about it." 

"Can you make out what's going on?"  He came around to sit 
next to Monica on the sofa.  He'd crashed hard sometime 
late this morning.  His body had finally given up on him 
after a night of wakefulness.  They'd all tried sleeping 
through the night, but one by one, they'd found themselves 
around the cheap card table in Gibson's so-called kitchen.  
Finally at about eleven a.m. Doggett's eyes staged a coup 
and took control of the rest of his body.  He'd only slept 
for a little over four hours, but he had been dead, 
sleeping soundly as a child.

Once when he was five years old, his house had been struck 
by lightning.   It had blown away the stone chimney, which 
happened to be just outside his bedroom window.  It had 
happened in the middle of the night, with him fast asleep.  
The simultaneous boom of thunder had awakened his parents 
and older brother instantly, but not him.  He was 
blissfully unaware until the next day when he saw the rocks 
littered about their yard.  Many times during his adult 
life he'd wished he could sleep like that again, but never 
really had.  This afternoon he was convinced that if aliens 
had dropped a ten thousand pound bomb nearby, he would not 
have been the wiser.  

"Well, I can't understand most of it, but people are 
obviously panicked," she said.  "There's a Mexican channel 
saying it's Armageddon, and advocating heading to the 
highest elevation point you can find to welcome the coming 
of Christ.  Make sure to bring a crucifix, a rosary and 
something to offer the Messiah.  They suggested jalapenos," 
she said with a straight face.

"Jalapenos?"  He asked, raising his eyebrows.

"I guess they symbolize the burning passion of faith, or 
perhaps God likes his Burritos hot and spicy," she said, 
the corners of her mouth twitched, giving her away.

"You made that up."

"Just the burrito part," she said, smiling a full-on toothy 
grin, and laughed.  He laughed, too.  The whole thing was 
absurd.  He never imagined he'd be sitting in the same 
clothes he'd been wearing for three days in a twenty-year 
old trailer waiting for the Apocalypse.  But damn if he had 
a better idea of what they should do.

"There's also a Roswell, New Mexico news channel that's 
been up 'round the clock," Monica said, looking back to the 
television.

"Roswell?"

"Apparently very few Roswell residents have gotten sick, 
and the reporters are advocating staying at home."

"Are they?  Staying home?"

"No," she said, shaking her head.  "Roads are packed with 
people trying to get out of town.  Why they want to leave 
is beyond me."  She lifted her hands in the air.

Doggett shrugged.  "Probably just panicking," he said.

"I suppose, but they're practically in the safest place in 
the world, maybe the universe," she said casually.

Doggett blinked.  "What do you mean?"

Monica hesitated, looking like she was unsure whether or 
not he was putting her on.  "You're kidding, right?"

"Monica, do I look like I'm kidding?" he said, a little 
harsher than he'd intended.

"I assumed you knew, John.  This whole area... the 
Southwest, the Four Corners, the Red Rocks, all the way to 
Roswell, New Mexico... We're basically at ground zero for 
Human Alien contact.  If there's a chance to survive, it's 
here.  I thought that's why you came here."

"I'm here because Gibson said to come, because he says the 
Super Soldiers are afraid of this area," he said.  "Not 
that I've seen a Super Soldier for a very long time, but 
Gibson seems to think that -"

"Why do you suppose that is?" she interrupted.  "Why are 
they afraid?"

"It's the geology, I get it, Monica.  But what difference 
does geology make to a virus?"

"It's just a hunch, John, but maybe this place will keep 
that virus away, just like it keeps the aliens away.  It's 
why their ship crashed in Roswell in '47.  That's why I 
took Joy to Mexico.  The state we lived in, Coahuila, had a 
similar geology.  Lot's of iron."

"But Monica, you said it was a Super Soldier who found you 
and Joy in Mexico."

"I know.  I can't explain that."  Monica let out a breath 
and shook her head.  "I've gone over it a dozen times and I 
still have no answer.  Maybe the concentration wasn't high 
enough.  All I know is that some of the experiments with 
Joy involved magnetite compounds.  I had hoped she could 
tell me more.  Even before all this, she didn't like to 
talk about the lab."

"Well, if all it took was iron to kill the Super Soldiers, 
there wouldn't be any of them around at all.  There's iron 
everywhere, in everything, the earth is made of it," he 
said.

She sighed.  "I know.  No, you're right.  It doesn't make 
any sense."

"All I know is we're not infected," he said softly, "and 
I'm not about to question it too much."  He touched her 
hand, but held eye contact.  They looked at each other 
silently for a moment and Doggett wondered if he should 
tell her something he had wanted to tell her years ago.

Joy stirred in the chair, and whimpered softly.  It was the 
first sound Doggett had heard her make since they arrived 
last night.  Monica stood up, breaking the moment, and took 
a step toward Joy, then crouched down next to her.  She 
slid her hand over Joy's shoulder, comforting her in her 
sleep.  

"Joy, honey," she said, sounding motherly.

Distracted, Doggett and Monica didn't notice when the car 
first pulled up in front of the trailer.  When the door 
swung open they both jumped and Joy's eyes flashed open.  
Gibson walked up the steps, pulling off his wet coat as he 
came hurrying through the door.

"Someone's coming.  I heard them on my way back," Gibson 
said.  He sounded panicked which only added to Doggett's 
unease.  He'd never really seen Gibson distressed before, 
not overtly.  The kid was always calm, at least on the 
surface.

"Who is it?"  Doggett asked, standing up suddenly.  He 
wished he had his gun.  He'd left his personal gun at his 
house in Phoenix, and he'd had to give his other two back 
to the Bureau when he'd quit.  Even though he hadn't been 
an agent in several years, his instincts always made him 
move his hand to his side to draw his weapon.  Old habits, 
and all that.

"I don't know.  It's muddled," Gibson said.  "I think it's 
trying to block me."

Joy had curled herself into a tighter ball in the chair, 
and she was shaking her head back and forth, in a jerky 
motion. 

"Turn off the lights," Doggett said, and pointed towards 
the switch.  Gibson moved instantly to turn the main 
trailer lights off, as Doggett headed towards the kitchen.  
"Monica, are you armed?"  

"No.  Are you?"

"Uh uh," he said, flicking off the remaining lights.  It 
was early afternoon, but the heavy clouds and rain made it 
seem like it was after dusk.  The trailer was off the main 
road and there was nothing in any direction for at least a 
mile, unless you counted the coyotes and rattlesnakes.  A 
lost stranger was possible, but unlikely.  You'd have to 
know where you were going to find the place.  This was no 
ordinary stranger, and though nobody said it aloud, they 
all knew.

"Maybe it's a looter.  That seems to be happening all over 
according to the news."  Monica sounded like she didn't 
believe herself anymore than the men did.

"Yeah maybe.  Or maybe it's the Girl Scouts selling 
cookies.  I could really go for a box of tagalongs right 
now," Doggett said.

The car was about a quarter of a mile away.  It headed 
straight for them, lights shining forward, zipping at an 
average speed.  It only took a minute before it was parked 
along side of Monica's car, still idling.

"Get down!  Stay away from the windows," Doggett said.  He 
and Gibson splayed out on their bellies on the trailers 
floor, laying flat behind the sofa, trying to blend into 
the furniture.  Monica tried to grab Joy, but the girl 
resisted.  She was shaking her head back and forth, and her 
mouth formed the shape of words, though no sound was coming 
out.

"I think it's here for her," Gibson whispered to Doggett, 
nodding towards Joy.  

"No!  No!  No!"  Joy shouted.  Monica jumped up, ran to the 
girl.  When Monica touched her, Joy jolted backward, nearly 
flipping herself and the La-Z-boy over with the force.

The vehicle's door opened and closed with a mechanical 
thud.  Boots crunched on gravel as their owner approached 
the door to the tiny trailer at an even pace, stopped.  
After a brief pause so quiet Doggett's own breathing 
sounded like a hurricane force gale inside his head, the 
stranger outside knocked on the door.

"Is the sonofabitch knocking?"  Doggett said, dumbfounded.  
He'd never known a Super Soldier to be so polite before 
trying to kill him.  He moved from his position on the 
floor, realizing it was inevitable that the stranger was 
coming inside, and found the axe that hung in the kitchen 
next to the fire extinguisher.  He stood behind the door's 
hinge, weapon raised, ready to strike at whatever came 
through.  He didn't care if the thing was invincible or 
that it would likely turn him into mulch.  John Doggett was 
not about to die without a fight.

After a moment, there was another knock.  When no one moved 
to let the stranger in, he jiggled the door's handle, and 
eventually pushed his way inside.  Doggett swung the axe, 
putting all his strength into it, landing the blade 
squarely in the stranger's left pectoral muscle, where it 
embedded with a squishy thud.  

The stranger looked down at the wound, looked at Doggett 
still holding onto the hilt of the weapon, slowly shook his 
head, but didn't say a word.

^^^^^^^^^^^^

Rural Wyoming
December 21, 2012
4:09 pm

His wrists ached and his shoulders throbbed.  

Liam shifted in the chair, trying to find a better 
position, but it seemed futile.  He wasn't sure how long 
he'd been there.  There was a wind-up alarm clock on the 
nightstand next to the Van de Kamp's bed, but the face was 
turned away from him.  He could hear the methodical 'tick 
tock,' but could only guess at the position of the hands.  
Instead, he measured time by sunlight spilling into the 
room through the window, trailing across the floor.  The 
stormy, cloud saturated sky made this a very inexact 
science.

The early December sunset approached rapidly, so Liam 
decided that it must be late afternoon.  It had been 
several hours since he'd arrived at the Van de Kamp house, 
and there would be consequences if he didn't complete this 
mission and return to camp soon.  He knew they would be 
bad, not only for him, but for all of mankind.  What was 
left of it.  Only the righteous would remain, but even they 
needed him to succeed or it was all for nothing.    

Above all, time was the enemy.

The room had grown intolerably quiet since the boy had left 
him an hour earlier.  Liam never did like the solitude, 
especially since his time with his new family.  At the 
camp, there always seemed to be a friendly face nearby to 
share a joke with, or to discuss a troublesome thought.  
Life at the camp was always busy, and he missed the 
camaraderie more than he imagined was possible.

Things had definitely not gone according to the plan.

For one thing, William seemed terrified of him.  Liam had 
been under the impression that the boy could read his mind, 
but if that were true, wouldn't he have understood his 
intentions?

Then there was still the question of his partner, Chase 
whom Liam considered a friend.  Chase had come to the camp 
only a few months before they'd left it together, hand-
picked for this very important journey.  

Liam wasn't a scientist, far from it, but if he had to 
guess he'd say that Chase had an allergic reaction to 
magnetite.  He knew that kind of thing would happen to 
those that had been transformed by the miracle alien 
technology and Liam wished he'd known about his friend from 
the beginning, because he would have respected him even 
more.  The alien beings were truly magnificent and now Liam 
felt woefully inadequate in comparison.

Liam looked down toward Chase's body on the floor near the 
bed.  There was no blood; no injury of any kind, aside from 
dark metallic splotches which covered his skin.  It was 
clich‚d, but he looked like he was asleep.  Liam wished 
that his hands were free so that he could shake his friend 
awake.  How could the one who is to bring man and creator 
together have done this?  As the tears began to drizzle 
down his cheeks, Liam bowed his head.  He wanted to pray.  
It was all he could think to do.

After a few seconds, a wet, wheezy cough broke Liam from 
his meditation.  William's father was sprawled on the bed 
like a figure in a Matisse painting.  He'd fallen 
unconscious shortly after binding Liam to the chair.  It 
had been quite a while since Liam had heard a noise from 
either of William's parents, and until the father had 
coughed, Liam had assumed they'd finally died.  Even if the 
parents were not really a part of his plan, Liam was glad 
they hadn't yet succumbed to the Plague, if for no other 
reason than he wanted the companionship.  

"Are you a believer, Mr. Van de Kamp?" Liam asked.

In the quiet of the room, his voice seemed amplified even 
to his own ears.  Liam wasn't sure if the other man could 
hear him or not.  In fact, there was little indication at 
all that Van de Kamp knew where he was, or that he was 
conscious.  The solitude was overwhelming for Liam.  
Speaking, even if it was ultimately to himself, was better 
than the nerve-wracking silence.

"I didn't always believe.  No, sir," Liam said, shaking his 
head.  "My parents were Jewish.  Not devoutly so.  We 
celebrated Hanukah, Passover, the High Holidays and the 
like, but mostly out of a sense of tradition, not out of 
any real connection to God." 


Liam shifted in his chair slightly, hoping to move some 
pressure from one side of his body to the other.  His left 
leg had fallen asleep, and he stomped his foot softly on 
the floor in an effort to rouse it.  Pins and needles his 
mother would have said.   


From the bed, Van de Kamp let out another cough, throaty 
and filled with mucous.  Liam craned his neck upwards, 
hoping to get a better look at the man, who lay prone on 
the bed, embedded into the soft mattress padding.  When he 
was satisfied that Van de Kamp was still breathing, Liam 
continued.

"I couldn't understand a God that demanded such obedience, 
but who was nowhere to be found.  And what about all the 
conflicting interpretations of religion around the world?  
They couldn't all be right.  So, I turned away from God, 
and that's when He took me.  He lifted me up.  I saw His 
face.  I learned the truth.  William... he's so special."  
Liam slowly shook his head back and forth, swallowed the 
newly formed lump in his throat, and muttered softly, 
"Please, help me.  Help us all."

The wind gusted, and knocked the house's front storm door 
closed, slamming it loudly in its frame like a judge's 
gavel making the final judgment on the fate of the world.  
Liam's failure would be the failure of mankind, and he knew 
it.

"Hello?"  A voice called from the lower level, startling 
Liam more than the door had seconds earlier.  He wanted to 
call out to it, that he was upstairs, and needed help.  
That he was alone.  But the practical side of him, the side 
that usually lost in a debate, told him that whoever owned 
that voice might not be a friend.  For once, he let that 
side take control.

"Is anyone here?"  A man's voice called, its tone peppered 
with a slight hint of gravel.  Liam heard tentative 
footsteps entering the foyer, heavy on the hardwood floor.

"Mr. Van de Kamp?  Wake up, sir.  Someone's here."  Liam 
spoke in an urgent whisper, and leaned forward in his chair 
as far as his restraints would allow.

Coming from downstairs, Liam heard mumbling.  There was 
more than one person speaking.  He couldn't make out what 
they were saying, or distinguish one voice from the other.  
The mysterious footsteps seemed to be coming closer to him.  
The floorboards squeaked on the stairway, and Liam's heart 
thudded violently in his chest.

"Hello?  Is anyone home?"  The voice came from the hallway, 
not far from Mr. Van de Kamp's bedroom.  Then he heard the 
other voice, more clearly than before.  

That voice belonged to a woman.

^^^^^^^^^
CHAPTER SEVEN  

Rural Wyoming
December 21, 2012
4:15 pm

Scully slept lightly beside Mulder in the truck.  He hadn't 
awakened her for the drive through town and he felt a 
twinge of regret for it.  He couldn't explain it, but he 
knew this had been the town where their son had spent the 
past eleven years of his life.  

They passed a bait shop, and Mulder's breath hitched as an 
image of William and his adoptive father going fishing 
rolled through his mind.  The town was small, essentially a 
one-light stop off the main highway.  Charming, quaint, not 
run down, but a town where Mulder imagined everyone knew 
everyone, and cared just as much about their neighbors as 
they would their own family.  It would be a wonderful place 
to grow up.  Though, now it was quiet.

Cars were parked haphazardly along the sides and in the 
middle of the street.  Businesses were dark, and not a soul 
could be found.  It was only four o'clock in the afternoon, 
and though the rain could have been a factor, Mulder knew 
the reason the town was quiet.  People weren't out because 
there were few people healthy enough to be out.  If Mulder 
had ever been as pragmatic as Scully, he might have thought 
they were too late.  Almost a day and a half had passed 
since the storm had started, and maybe that was too much 
time.  But Mulder had always gone with his gut first, and 
his gut was telling him to keep driving through town.

Once through the small downtown area dotted with old 
brownstones and shops with shingles hanging above their 
doors and about a mile beyond the main drag, Mulder noticed 
a turn-off onto a dirt road.  The road wasn't marked with a 
sign; most likely only the locals cared about it.  Mulder 
turned onto the road, and knew that was it.  One way or 
another, William would be at the end of that path.  After 
twenty minutes, he saw a house, and he knew he'd been 
right.

Mulder drove down a winding dirt road, now mostly mud, 
cutting through a thin fog with the truck's low beams.  
About a half a mile away, at the end of a long driveway, he 
could make out a brightly painted, two-story, white 
farmhouse.  He stopped, keeping his foot on the brake and 
the truck in drive, near the mailbox at the top of a 
sloping hill.  The distance made detail difficult to 
distinguish, but he could see a tall metal pole.  On top of 
the pole there was a flag flapping in the harsh wind.  He 
couldn't see the detail of the image with his eyes, but in 
his heart he knew that the flag depicted a white buffalo.  
As far as Mulder was concerned, it was a giant X marking 
the spot.

"Scully?  Hey, Scully," Mulder said.  He drove a little 
ways then stopped the car again, this time at the end of 
the driveway.  The truck pointed down the winding dirt 
trail that was lined with what had probably been neatly 
kept shrubs and flowerbeds in the summertime, but were now 
wilted and dead with the changing season.  

Scully opened her eyes, fully awake after only a moment.

"What is it?" she asked, sitting straighter in the seat.

"We're here.  This is it," he said, his voice sounded 
dream-like to his own ears.

With his index finger, Mulder pointed towards the house, 
and a small, serene smile spread across his lips.  He took 
his foot off the brake and depressed the gas pedal.  The 
truck began a slow descent towards the perfectly 
picturesque house.  It was something from a movie or a 
"Leave it to Beaver" episode.  Whatever the result of their 
arrival, Mulder knew William had been taken care of during 
the past eleven or so years.  A tiny part of Mulder 
wondered whether it was cruel to show up on his son's 
doorstep the day before the likely end of the world and say 
"Daddy's home."  But that small part of him was overwhelmed 
by a greater sense of urgency.  Nothing was going to stand 
in his way.  He'd dreamed of this moment for what had 
seemed like a lifetime.

Mulder stopped the truck just in front of the partially 
installed basketball hoop.  He smiled, pleased that his son 
enjoyed the game that he loved so much.  He imagined 
William spending hours alone practicing free throws and 
jump shots, just like he had as a boy, dreaming of his 
inevitable superstardom in the NBA.

"Mulder, are you sure we're in the right place?"  Scully 
turned in her seat, facing him, craning her head to get a 
better look at the house through the window on Mulder's 
side of the truck.  She was pale.  Mulder couldn't decide 
if she was more afraid of not finding William or of finding 
him.  After all, she was the mother who had given him up 
for adoption.  There was no way to know if William knew he 
had been adopted, or how he felt about it if he did.

"I'm sure, Scully.  I've seen this house in my dreams," he 
said.  "Though, it would have helped if I'd seen that."  
Mulder pointed towards the front porch.  A hand-painted 
sign made of wood flapped on a hinge, creaking slightly in 
the wind.  It read "Welcome to the Van de Kamps."

"Van de Kamp.," Scully said, trying the name out, rolling 
it off her tongue softly.  "William Van de Kamp."

"If they even kept his first name."  Mulder exhaled, and 
turned towards Scully.  "Are you ready for this?"  

"What about his... parents?  What are we supposed to tell 
them?"

Mulder had never considered it.  Ten years of searching for 
his son, and in his mind he never had to bother with the 
small detail of William's adoptive parents.  He had 
wondered what they might be like.  He'd thought about how 
they might be treating William.  But when it came to this 
moment -- the moment he finally met his boy -- the parents 
ceased to exist.

"I have no idea.  I guess we'll wing it." Mulder reached 
for the handle on the truck door, popped it open and 
stepped out.  "Come on, Scully.  Grab your bag."

Through the truck's window he saw Scully take in a deep 
breath, then reach back to grab her medical bag that 
contained the vials of Mesabi Ferrum.  Mulder walked up the 
steps to the front porch.  Soon after, he heard Scully's 
quick footsteps as she jogged to catch up.  Ready or not, 
here they come.

The heavy front door was wide open.  The wind had pinned it 
against the side of the house, so Mulder peered inside.  
The house was quiet, except for the faint whistle caused by 
an occasional gust of wind blowing in through the hallway.  
It reminded Mulder of a train making its way down a long 
tunnel, warning of possible danger.    

"Think they were expecting us?"  Mulder asked, stepping 
over the threshold.  

"Mulder, you can't just walk in there.  This is somebody's 
home," Scully said, putting her hand on his forearm.

"Scully, the door is wide open in the middle of a December 
rain storm and there's nobody in sight.  I'm taking that as 
a sign there's trouble."

Scully smiled, surprising Mulder a little.

"What?" he asked.

"I just had deja vu. How many times have I had to remind 
you of the probable cause laws that you liked to pretend 
you never learned at Quantico?"

Mulder returned her smile, somehow calmed by the memory of 
their past life together.  How they began.  Even though it 
seemed like an eternity ago, there were times when a scent 
or a sound would bring those memories rushing back in a 
heartbeat and make him think nothing had changed.  Those 
moments happened so rarely these days, and he wished he had 
more time now to savor this one.  He moved his hand to 
Scully's shoulder, and gave it a comforting squeeze.  He 
leaned down, placed a gentle kiss on her lips, and she 
closed her eyes briefly in response.

"Come on, Agent Scully," he said.  "We've got one last case 
to crack."

Mulder opened the door with one hand and took Scully's hand 
with the other, pulling her into the Van de Kamp's home.  
Once they were inside, the wind whipped violently toward 
the house and the heavy storm door slammed shut, as if to 
tell them that one chapter of their lives had ended and 
another had just begun.  

Mulder only hoped it would be a long chapter.

^^^^^^^

Near Sedona, Arizona
December 21, 2012
4:19 pm

John Doggett pulled with all of his body weight on the axe 
he had buried in the chest of what could no longer 
reasonably be called a man.  If he hurried and dislodged 
it, Doggett might have one more good swing before the Super 
Soldier sliced his head off with his bare hand.  Doggett 
was somewhat amazed that it hadn't already tried.  The 
thing just stood there, staring down at the thick metal 
wedge that was lodged in its body.  

It was disconcerting to Doggett how it -- this Super 
Soldier, if that's what it was -- could be so calm while 
another person tried to end its life.  Doggett didn't dwell 
on the thought very long before he finally pulled the axe 
free, and lifted it above his head with both hands, gearing 
up for another blow.  This time he planned on taking off 
the Super Soldier's head.  If he was to have any chance at 
disabling it, and slowing it down, sending the head as far 
from the body as possible would be the best option.  

As Doggett began the down stroke, the Super Soldier altered 
his statue-like pose and lifted his left arm up towards the 
axe.  When Doggett brought the weapon down, the Super 
Soldier grabbed the wooden handle, effectively stopping the 
axe's progress in mid-air.  With one violent yank, the 
Super Soldier pulled the axe out of Doggett's hands and 
threw it outside of the trailer where it landed on the 
rain-soaked dirt with a distant thud.  

Doggett gulped, preparing for what was next.  His only 
thought was to keep his eyes open.  He wanted to die facing 
his enemy with courage and dignity, in full control of his 
senses and wit.  Joy continued to cry somewhere in the 
background, and Doggett vaguely registered the scent of 
Monica's fading perfume.  He heard Gibson shouting 
something, but Doggett was not sure what.  The myth was 
true; when faced with death time really does slow down.  
Each second feels like a lifetime and life's small regrets 
and failures are amplified.  

However, time felt slower now than he ever imagined it 
would.

Doggett blinked and refocused on the Super Soldier.  It had 
taken a step backward and raised its arms in a posture of 
surrender.  A slight smile had appeared on its face, and 
its eyes softly pleaded with Doggett to accept its gesture 
of good will.  Then, the Super Soldier spoke and said 
something Doggett would never have believed if he hadn't 
heard it with his own ears.

"Please," it said, sounding apologetic, "I'm not here to 
hurt you."

Doggett lowered his gaze to the man's chest.  The axe wound 
he had just inflicted was already healing.  The bleeding 
had stopped and Doggett could see the line of perforated 
skin repairing itself before his eyes.  He didn't want to 
look, but he could not take his eyes away from the wound.  
In the past, Doggett had seen Super Soldiers shot and 
physically mutilated beyond human tolerance.  They were 
always unstoppable.  Either they kept coming at you despite 
their injuries or would start up again after a brief lull 
in their pursuit, as if the mutilation of their body was 
only a small annoyance preventing them from attaining their 
ultimate goal of destroying their target.  Until now, 
Doggett had never actually seen the regeneration in action.  
He couldn't tell you the difference between a DNA strand 
and a protein code, but to see this kind of healing take 
place in a matter of seconds was a miracle, even if it was 
a genetically engineered one.

"The hell you're not!  You're a Super Soldier, right?"  
Doggett shouted, "If you're not here to hurt anyone, then 
get the hell out."  Doggett swung a stiff arm around and 
thrust his index finger toward the door in case the Super 
Soldier was unsure which way was out of the tiny trailer.  

"Please, let me explain," the Super Soldier said.  He spoke 
evenly with no hint of fear or exasperation, or any other 
emotion.  

"Listen, whatever the hell you are, if you're not going to 
kill me, then get out.  Don't explain, just leave."  
Doggett said, ignoring the absurdity of what he was saying.  
Doggett took a quick, giant step toward the Super Soldier, 
the anger building inside him as the last decade of stifled 
fear pushed its way up through his body.  This man in front 
of him represented more failure than Doggett ever wanted to 
admit he was capable of.  Before the X-Files, before Super 
Soldiers, his life had been fine.  Lonely, but he'd had a 
bright career, was respected by his peers.  He had a normal 
life.  At the very least, his faith in all that was right 
with the world hadn't been shattered.  

Before Knowle Rohrer and the almighty Super Soldier 
conspiracy shook its finger at John Doggett, the world made 
sense.  He intended to make sure this thing standing in 
front of him understood that.  
 
Doggett shoved his hands on the Super Soldier's chest, 
knocking the Super Soldier back a step.  Not an 
overpowering shove, but he caught it off-guard a bit.  
Still, it just stood there watching, allowing Doggett to 
push him again.  

"John!  What are you doing?"  Doggett vaguely registered 
the sound of Monica's voice in the background.  He'd 
forgotten she was there.  She was telling him to stop, 
which made no sense.  More than anyone, she should 
understand what he needed to do.  If not for Super Soldiers 
maybe they'd still be friends.   Maybe more.  Doggett 
looped his arms around the Super Soldier, frantically 
trying to lift the man up, and carry him through the door.  
The thing felt like a sack of lead.  

"John, stop it."  He heard two voices.  Monica and Gibson 
both pleaded with him to let go, or something along those 
lines.  Doggett was somewhat aware of being touched on the 
shoulder and in the next instant he was on the floor, 
sprawled out on Gibson's flea market rug flat on his ass.  
Gibson stood a few inches away, glaring down at him.  His 
brow was knotted and his fists were balled up at his sides.  

"Listen to him," Gibson said, breathing hard.  

Doggett wasn't entirely sure, but it appeared he'd just 
been knocked on his ass by Gibson Praise.  That fact alone 
made what Gibson had to say worthy of his attention.  In 
all the time Doggett had known him, Gibson had hardly made 
it beyond a good shout.  

After another breath and a gulp, Gibson said, "He's telling 
the truth, John.  Just listen."

"You've got to be kidding me."  Doggett didn't think the 
situation could be any more absurd.  Gibson, Monica and the 
Super Soldier stood on one side of the room while he was on 
another.  

Three against one with a line in the sand.

Now he knew the world was ending.

^^^^^^

Rural Wyoming
December 21, 2012
4:22 pm

The house smelled of cinnamon and freshly dried laundry.  
To Scully it was the smell of San Diego or Baltimore or the 
dozens of other places the Scully family had lived during 
her childhood.  It was the smell of home and family.  
Something she had once desperately wanted to replicate for 
herself but never would.  The Van de Kamp's home was a 
western-styled farmhouse, but it was well kept and not 
cheaply maintained.  The family was probably middle class.  
The furnishings and quality of the house suggested they 
lived comfortably, but not lavishly.  

As Scully passed near the doorway to the kitchen she peered 
inside and saw an immaculately cleaned countertop still 
with a Mr. Clean shine.  Aside from one soup bowl and a 
spoon, the sink was empty of dishes and the table was 
missing any remnant of recent activity.  There was no 
evidence the Van de Kamp's, or anyone else, had been in the 
house anytime recently.  Only silence and chilly air 
greeted them.  Scully's heart sank in her chest when it 
occurred to her that perhaps the family was on vacation.  
The date was nearly Christmas and it was possible they had 
gone to visit family for the holiday.  Maybe a trip to 
Grandma's.  

But if the family was gone, why would she smell the 
laundry?  A load had been completed recently, and unless 
the family had hurried out the door after stuffing newly 
dried clothes into a suitcase, there was one other 
possibility about the family's location.  An image of 
stalled cars and their recently deceased, Plague-filled 
drivers, jumped up in Scully's mind and she quickly pushed 
it aside.  She was getting ahead of herself.  

"Hello?"  Mulder called out.  He didn't shout, but in the 
quiet room his voice consumed the space.  "Is anybody 
home?"

"I don't think they're here, Mulder," she said, more to 
convince herself.

"Why was the door open?"  Mulder said as he headed towards 
the stairway that lead upstairs, presumably to the 
bedrooms.

"I don't know," she said, feeling a sudden chill.  She 
wrapped her free arm around her chest in an attempt to keep 
the cold away.  "It just feels... empty."

"If they're sick, they're probably upstairs," Mulder said.  
He said it plainly, in the same voice he used hundreds of 
times during case investigations.  He was taking in 
evidence and making assumptions based on instinct, while 
Scully chose to go against her nature.  She pushed away the 
too-likely scenario of finding the family sick from the 
virus and the fear that came with it.  She forced herself 
to remain skeptical that this was William's house.  So far, 
all she knew for certain was that someone named Van de Kamp 
probably lived here.  Anything beyond that would be 
guessing and she reminded herself not to make assumptions 
before all the facts were in.  She would leave conjecture 
to Mulder.

"Mulder, we shouldn't go up there," she said as Mulder 
neared the top half of the flight of stairs.

Mulder whirled around on the steps.  Scully stood a few 
steps below and he loomed over her.  He furrowed his brow 
and his face turned a deep pink as obvious frustration 
evaporated off of him.  Scully couldn't look into his eyes, 
and turned her head down toward the beautiful hardwood 
stairs instead, feeling like a child.

"Scully, we're here.  It's now or never.  You can do 
whatever you want to do, but I'm going up there."  He said, 
curtly.  Mulder turned back around and continued his ascent 
to the top.  Scully sighed, breathed in deeply to regroup 
for whatever or whoever they would find and followed after 
him.

When they were nearly to the top of the landing Mulder 
stopped and turned around with his finger over his lips.  
"Do you hear that?"  He asked, whispering.

Scully craned her ear toward the hallway, listening.  After 
a moment she shook her head.  "No.  What?"

"Voices... coming from that room," Mulder said, nodding 
toward the room at the end of the hallway.  He called out 
again and walked towards the sounds.  "Hello?  Mr. and Mrs. 
Van de Kamp?"

Once Mulder reached the door, he pushed it completely open 
and stepped inside.  Scully remained behind him in the 
hallway, just on the other side of the doorway.  Her heart 
thudded wildly in her chest as she watched Mulder swivel 
his head, scanning whatever was in the room.

"Hey, Scully.  Take a look at this."  Mulder reached out, 
grabbed her wrist, and pulled her inside the room.  The 
first thing she saw was a large bed, indicating to her that 
this was probably the master bedroom.  Lying on the bed 
were a man and a woman, both unconscious and covered with 
several layers of sheets and quilts, arms and legs stuck 
out from underneath the bedding making it look like the 
occupants were both hot and cold at once.

"Oh my God, Mulder," Scully said.  She started towards the 
man and the woman, her rusty doctor instincts kicking in, 
but Mulder held onto her wrist, stopping her.  She looked 
at her wrist then to Mulder.  "Let go, Mulder."

"Wait a second.  Look over there."  He nodded toward the 
other side of the room, near the foot of the bed.  She 
followed his gaze toward the object of his attention.  In a 
wooden desk chair sat another man who *was* conscious and 
tied to the chair at the wrists and the feet.  He stared at 
Mulder and Scully but didn't move.  He seemed absolutely 
petrified by the two of them.  His mouth hung open, his 
eyes bulged out, and his chest rose rapidly as he tried to 
take in as much oxygen as his lungs would hold.

Scully started toward the man, the question of who he was 
perched on her lips and ready to leap forward, but Mulder's 
grasp held her back.

"And there," Mulder said, pointing downward, behind them, 
"on the floor."  Almost hidden behind the door was another 
man, legs and arms sprawled out.  Mulder finally released 
his grip on Scully's wrist and she headed first to the man 
on the floor, who seemed to be in the worst condition.  As 
she reached him, her eyes were drawn to his face.  His 
mouth was wide open and his eyes looked up at her in a 
vacant stare, lifeless and unresponsive.  Scully could see 
the red lines of petichial hemorrhaging drawn through the 
whites, usually indicating forced suffocation, but there 
was no sign of bruising around the throat.  Scully bent 
down, with two fingers she felt for any sign of life along 
the carotid artery in the man's neck.  His blackened skin 
felt cool to the touch, almost like metal.  

She had seen this type of reaction before.  A long time 
ago.

"He's dead," said a voice from across the room.  Scully 
twisted her body around to face the voice's source.  The 
man tied to the chair had apparently regained some 
composure.

"Who is he?"  Mulder asked.

"He was my friend," the man in the chair said, solemnly.  
He lowered his head and swallowed.  Scully stood up, less 
interested in the man in the chair, and more interested in 
the unconscious bodies on the bed.  Hopefully they hadn't 
met the same fate as the dead man.

"Who are you?  Is your name Van de Kamp?  Is this your 
house?"  Mulder asked.

The tied up man shook his head back and forth but didn't 
speak.

"Mulder, I think these are the Van de Kamps," Scully said.  
She was bent over the man lying on the bed.  She looked 
closely at the man's face, and could see lesions that had 
become the tell-tale sign of the alien virus.  She was more 
than a foot away from him, but Scully could feel heat 
radiating off of him.  She looked to the other side of the 
bed to the woman, and saw the same marks on her face.  The 
man breathed rapidly but was unconscious as sweat literally 
dripped off of him.  The bed sheets were soaked through and 
a wet mark stretched inches in circumference around his 
body.  The woman was also unconscious, but was barely 
breathing at all.  Still carrying her medical bag, Scully 
walked around to the other side of bed to check on her. 

"They're infected, Mulder."

"Are they alive?"

"Yes, but I'm not sure for how much longer.  I need to 
administer the serum."  Scully put the bag down on the bed 
near the woman and began rummaging through it, looking for 
one of the small vials of Mesabi Ferrum and a disposable 
syringe.  

"Do you think it will work?"

"I have no idea," she said absently, focused on her task.

Mulder was silent for a moment then asked, "Do you think 
it's a good idea to use up two doses?  How much do we have 
left?"

Scully stopped searching her bag and stood up straight to 
look at Mulder.  Her eyebrows knotted and she stared at him 
in disbelief, understanding the implication of his 
question.

"Mulder, I'm not going to let them die," she said.

"You just said you don't know if it will help them," he 
said, maintaining firm eye contact with her, locked in a 
staring contest.

"I don't, but I'm not going to stand by and do nothing."  
She lifted up the syringe and plunged it into the top of 
the vial, then sucked the liquid up into the hollow plastic 
tube.  "Besides, if you're right, and this is *his* house, 
these--" she said, waiving her hand over the Van de Kamps, 
"--are William's parents."  

The challenge continued and Mulder finally blinked.  Scully 
wasn't sure if she had convinced him that injecting the Van 
de Kamp's was the right thing to do or just convinced him 
that she wasn't going to back down.  Either way, she'd won 
that round.  Mulder turned back toward the man in the chair 
while Scully brought the syringe down towards the woman, 
plunging the needle deep into her shoulder.  Mrs. Van de 
Kamp made no sound as Scully pushed the liquid deep into 
the muscle.  When all of the serum was gone, Scully picked 
up her bag, and walked back around to Mr. Van de Kamp 
intending to do the same to him.

"You know the boy called William?"  The man tied in the 
chair asked.  Scully only registered his words, not their 
meaning.  Her focus was on helping the man in the bed.

"Who the hell are you?"  Scully faintly heard Mulder 
demand.  

The man stuttered before finally spitting out that his name 
was Liam.  

Scully removed a new syringe from the sterile wrapper and 
pulled a fresh vial of the stuff from the bag.  As she 
stuck the needle into Van de Kamp's shoulder, she heard 
Mulder ask Liam what he was doing in the Van de Kamp's 
house tied up.  In the back of her mind she tried to 
understand what had happened here.  She had a good idea 
what had happened to the Van de Kamps, but could not for 
the life of her figure out how one man ended up dead while 
another was tied to a chair as the Van de Kamp's slept 
feverishly in their beds.  

"I asked who you are," Mulder said, his voice increasing a 
few decibels.  

When Scully finished injecting Mr. Van de Kamp, she walked 
back over to join Mulder in his interrogation of Liam.  
Mulder silently questioned her with his eyes about the 
status of man and woman in the bed.  She shook her head 
slightly.

"We'll have to wait and see," she said to Mulder.  Then she 
turned towards Liam.  "Answer him.  What are you doing 
here?"  

"I came here looking for Quetzalcoatl, The Great Unifier, 
the one who will bring about the dawning of the Fifth Age 
and end the suffering of the Fourth.  He lives here."

"Quetzalcoatl?"  Mulder asked.  "The Mayan and Aztec god?"

"Yes.  His return will unite us all and bring peace."

"Mulder, he's crazy," Scully said.

"Maybe," he said, and turned to ask Liam, "What does 
Quetzalcoatl look like these days?"  Scully crossed her 
arms over her chest and clamped her lips together tightly, 
waiting for an absurd response to an absurd question.

"He is William, William is he," Liam said with a smile on 
his face that made him look serene and completely bonkers 
at the same time.  But whether he was crazy or not, he had 
just said her son's name, and now had her complete 
attention.

"William who?"  Scully asked, trying to control her shaky 
voice, like a person who is not sure she wants to hear the 
answer to the question, but knows the answer nevertheless.  

"William is the one you spoke of.  He is very special," 
Liam said.  Scully gasped.  Liam's face twisted into a 
disconcerting smile.  He seemed to be in his own world, 
dazed and clearly insane, but his words kicked Scully in 
the gut like a lead boot, and knocked the wind right out of 
her.  She didn't know why she believed him, this most 
definitely mentally ill man, but hearing her son's name 
cross his lips suddenly made everything very immediate to 
her.  Not until that very moment did she truly believe 
Mulder had led her to the place they'd sought for a decade, 
if not forever.

Suddenly the room seemed filled with grainy color and 
ordinary details jumped out at her.  She glanced at the 
wall behind Liam.  Hanging about five feet up was an eight-
by-ten photograph bordered by a gold leafed, wooden frame.  
In the photo, three individuals posed for a professional 
family portrait.  All were smiles in front of a standard 
blue-gray marbled background screen.  The two adults seated 
in the picture were obviously the same two people Scully 
had just injected with serum and who were lying unconscious 
in their bed.  Standing behind them, smiling brilliantly, 
was a boy of about ten years old.  He had dark brown hair 
and bright blue eyes.  It could have been the power of 
suggestion at work, but she was sure she saw Mulder's smile 
on that face in the photograph smiling back at her, and 
Scully finally believed that she was standing in a bedroom 
in her son's house, with her son's adoptive parents on the 
eve of the end of the world.  

"Mulder..." Scully pointed toward the picture.  Her eyes 
were transfixed on the image, and she was almost afraid she 
would burn a hole through the paper, but not afraid enough 
to look away.  "That's him."

Mulder looked too.  

He walked over to stand next to Scully.  Both of them 
hesitated to get too close to the image, as if getting 
closer would frighten the boy away.  They were strangers to 
him, after all, and children were sometimes afraid of 
strangers.  Mulder placed a hand on Scully's shoulder and 
looked down into the same eyes he saw in the picture on the 
wall.  He drew a deep breath and squeezed her shoulder, 
clinging to her like she was a lifeboat.  

They were here.  

But William was not.

Mulder turned back to Liam.  "Where is he?  Why are you 
tied up?  Did you hurt him?"  They could technically have 
been called questions, but Mulder spit them out as 
commands, throwing words at Liam as if they were arrows and 
perched on top of Liam's head was an apple. Mulder didn't 
seem to care if his aim was off.

"Why would I hurt him?"  Liam asked calmly.

"Where is he?"  Mulder asked again, louder.  Liam stared 
blankly at them both.  He seemed utterly dismayed by 
Mulder's questioning, which only made Scully's need to hear 
the answers more urgent.

"Answer him, dammit!"  Scully said, pulling her eyes from 
her son's picture and stepping into Liam's space.  She 
wanted to shake the answers out of him, but clasped her 
hands together, wringing them instead.  

Finally, Liam opened his mouth to speak.  "He left," Liam 
said.

"He left?  Where did he go?"  Scully reached out.  She 
decided she would shake the answers out of him after all.  
This man was lucky she no longer packed heat, at least not 
on her person.  If she needed to, should would run down to 
the truck and bring back her Glock.  Hell, she'd even bring 
back her FBI badge, which she still had somewhere in her 
belongings -- nobody made you turn in Bureau property when 
you had resigned your position by becoming a fugitive from 
justice.  She'd do anything to get Liam to start talking 
and start talking now.  Did he not understand that he was 
speaking about her son?  

She decided she would make him understand, but as her hands 
touched the fabric on his shirt, a loud gasp came from one 
of the people in the bed.  Scully turned back, releasing 
Liam in the process.  She quickly walked over to Mr. Van de 
Kamp's side of the bed, and pulled back the covers 
slightly.

Scully was surprised to see that his eyes were open.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

CHAPTER EIGHT

Rural Wyoming
December 21, 2012
4:26 pm

"Sir, try to stay still," Scully said.  She tried to calm 
him down, but Mr. Van de Kamp continued to thrash 
restlessly on the bed, mumbling nearly soundlessly.  He 
shook his head back and forth for about a minute, while he 
tried to focus on whatever was touching him.  Then his 
movements stilled, but his breathing remained labored and 
quick.  His eyes ceased darting back and forth finally 
settling on Scully.  She could see his mind at work, trying 
to process who she was and whether or not she was 
dangerous.  

"Who -- who are you?"  Van de Kamp asked, his voice 
scratchy from excessive coughing and disuse.  He struggled 
to sit up in the bed.

"I'm here to help you, sir.  Don't try to sit up," Scully 
said, bringing her hand to his forehead. 

He ignored her, and sat up anyway.  He still felt hot to 
the touch.  When he reached out to push Scully's hand away, 
a bead of moisture fell from his glazed skin onto the back 
of her dry hand.  

"What are you doing here?  Who are you?"  Van de Kamp 
asked, fearfully but firmly.  

She took a step back, not wanting to agitate him any more 
than the situation already had.  A moment ago, he was 
unconscious, probably dying from the alien virus, and now 
he was sitting up speaking to her.  She couldn't prove that 
her serum had anything to do with this, but if it hadn't it 
was a hell of a coincidence.  If the woman sat up too, it 
would be proof enough for Scully at this point, scientific 
method be damned.  

"My name is Dana Scully.  I'm -- I'm a medical doctor," 
Scully said, looking to Mulder quickly, unsure exactly what 
to say.  Mulder raised his shoulders and nodded, letting 
her know he didn't have any better idea than her and he 
trusted whatever choice she made.

"You're a doctor?  Can you help my wife?"  When he turned 
to look at his wife, Van de Kamp noticed Mulder for the 
first time, standing near the foot of the bed.  "Is he a 
doctor, too?"

"No, he's not.  But he's here to help.  We both are," 
Scully said.

"You're not paramedics?  From 9-1-1?  I couldn't get 
through, but --"

"No, we're not.  Mulder, can you get Mr. Van de Kamp some 
water?  He needs to replenish his fluids."  

"Sure," Mulder said.  He glanced down briefly at Liam who 
was observing the other adults in silence and walked 
towards the door, out of the room.

"How do you know my name?"  Van de Kamp asked.

"The sign on your front porch.  Mr. Van de Kamp, can you 
tell me what happened here?" Scully said.

"My wife, is she okay?" he asked, ignoring her.

"I'm not sure.  I gave her some medicine.  The same 
medicine I gave you.  I'm hoping it will work just as 
well," Scully said.

"We need to take her to a hospital."  Van de Kamp turned 
toward his wife and leaned over her.  His hand went to the 
hot skin of her face, trying to soothe her in her sleep.  
He spoke tenderly, his voice filled with love and raw 
emotion.  Scully only hoped that Mrs. Van de Kamp would 
fair just as well as he had.  "Susan, honey.  Can you hear 
me?"  When Susan didn't respond, he turned back toward 
Scully, seeking answers she wished she could provide for 
him.  

"What's wrong with us?  I thought we had the flu, but -" He 
reached up to touch his face, indicating he knew the same 
burns on Susan pock-marked him as well, "-this.  I've never 
known the flu to do this.  I asked my son to call 9-1-1, 
but it was disconnected."  Van de Kamp looked at his hands, 
seemingly caught between confusion and fear, and then he 
looked up, remembering.  "Oh!  William.  Where is Will?"

Scully swallowed and lowered her eyes.  "Is that your son?  
His name is William?"

"Yes, Will.  Is he here?  Where did he go?"  Van de Kamp 
looked around the room, suddenly panicked.  

"He left," Liam said, still in his eerily calm manner.  Van 
de Kamp sat up straighter and peered over the foot of his 
bed, glaring at the source of the voice, struggling to stay 
upright.  

"You--what did you do with my son?"

"He left when you lost consciousness.  He didn't say where 
he was going," Liam said, looking at Van de Kamp with a 
slightly vacant look in his eyes.

"You did that, sir?  Mr. Van de Kamp?" Scully asked, 
pointing at the bound Liam.

"Did what?" Mulder asked as he returned to the room 
carrying a large pitcher of water and some blue-tinted 
plastic cups.  He handed Scully one of the cups and filled 
it half full of water.

"Did you tie that man up?  Do you know who he is?"  Scully 
handed the glass of water to Van de Kamp and helped him 
drink it.  He was dehydrated, and he gulped the water 
uncontrollably. "Easy, sir.  Take your time."

After he'd downed the liquid, he held his glass out for a 
refill.

"Rob.  My name is Rob," he said between a sip of water.  
"All I know, is that man wanted to take my son to find God, 
so I tied him up and then I passed out.  Where is Will?  Is 
he in his bedroom?  I have to find him and we need to take 
Susan to the hospital.  I've never seen her this sick 
before."  Rob pushed himself up and lifted his legs to the 
edge of the bed.  When his feet touched the floor he paused 
for a moment in exhaustion, finally stood up.  Scully took 
a step backward.  She reached out to steady him as he 
swayed on his feet, trying to orient himself.  

"Mr. Van de Kamp, you really shouldn't stand up--" 

A loud BOOM quickly followed by a brilliant flash of light 
originating somewhere outside the house interrupted 
Scully's lecture.  It was late afternoon, and the winter 
sunset quickly approached from the east.  In the twilight, 
the flash was more intense than any lightning Scully had 
witnessed before.  Deep within the thick layer of gray 
cloud-cover, what sounded like a freight train rumbled 
along its imaginary track through the heavens, blaring its 
horn to clear the way.  The sound penetrated through 
Scully's eardrum, through her fillings, vibrating her 
entire body before lodging firmly in her gut.  The wind 
blew hard, and Scully had a ridiculous image of herself 
dressed as Dorothy running around the room trying to find 
Toto before the window shutter knocked her on the head 
sending her to Munchkinland.  She almost laughed out loud.

And then the house began to shake.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Near Sedona, Arizona
December 21, 2012
4:21 pm

Once, in grade school, after a playground squabble over 
some very important item that he could no longer remember, 
John Doggett sat in the same position in which he sat now 
on Gibson Praise's worn out linoleum floor; flat on his 
ass, mouth gaping open, hands behind him, knees bent and 
staring dumbfounded at the force that had knocked him over.  

In the third grade it had been Trygvee Ness, a boy who had 
decided at an early age that his goal in life was to set 
and then break his own personal record of how many kids he 
could sucker punch each week before getting sent to the 
principal's office.  It's not easy being named Trygvee.  

In 2012, on what Monica had dubbed Colonization Eve, that 
force was a short, stocky, usually mild-mannered young man 
named Gibson Praise.  

"Gibson, what the hell?"  Doggett finally spit out the 
words that had been lodged in his throat ever since he'd 
hit the floor.

Gibson stood over him, still looking angry, like a cornered 
rattlesnake.  His shoulders had relaxed marginally, but 
Gibson still looked ready to strike again if provoked.  
Gibson placed his hands on his hips and Doggett suddenly 
felt like he was back in grade school, caught by the 
principal for fighting and humiliated after getting beat up 
by Trygvee Ness in front of his classmates.  At least 
Trygvee had been twice Doggett's size.  Gibson had been a 
short kid who had grown up to be a short man.  He certainly 
was not a former Marine, former NYPD cop and former FBI 
agent.  

"You weren't listening, John.  He's not here to hurt us," 
Gibson said, teeth clenched.

Doggett shook his head, and looked at the space on the 
floor between his sprawled legs.  He splayed his fingers 
and held them open in front of himself, palms up, 
questioning.  None of this ever made any sense, and he was 
tired of trying to make sense of it.  

"Okay.  I surrender," he said raising his hands in the air, 
turning his palms to face out.  "If you all want to die, 
who am I to stop you?  If what everyone says is truly 
happening, it's almost over anyway."  Doggett pulled 
himself up off of the floor and his joints creaked loudly 
in his own eardrums.  The adrenaline rush was fading and he 
felt the first shot of pain thudding through his shoulder.  

Doggett glanced over at Joy.  The girl who had been frantic 
during his attempt to kill the Super Soldier was now eerily 
quiet.  Her face was flushed and tear soaked, but she gave 
no hint of distress or fear.  Instead she looked curious.  
She watched the Super Soldier intently in the same way 
Gibson had watched her when she and Monica had first 
arrived the day before.  She looked like she was watching 
television, or perhaps listening to a radio.

"I'm not here to hurt anyone.  I came to help you," the 
Super Soldier said.

"How can you help us?  Who are you?"  Monica asked.  She 
had insinuated herself between Joy and the Super Soldier.   
She was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt, but 
she stood with her shoulders squared in front of Joy like a 
mother bear on her hind legs protecting her cub.  "How did 
you find us?"

"I heard them," the Super Soldier said.  He nodded towards 
Gibson and Joy.  "I've been looking for him for a long 
time, but only in the last day or so--"

"You heard them?  You mean, you heard their thoughts?"  
Monica said.

The Super Soldier nodded.  He was a young man.  He reminded 
Doggett of Billy Miles--soft-spoken, calm, the beginnings 
of a receding hairline and something not quite human 
looking back through another man's eyes.  "Yes, I can hear 
their thoughts.  And they can hear mine." 

"He's been trying to find me for months.  But only in the 
last day was he able to pinpoint me exactly," Gibson said.  
He'd turned his head toward the Super Soldier, cocking it 
slightly to the side, scrunching his left brow, 
scrutinizing. 

"Why in the last day?"  Monica asked.  She looked down at 
Joy, who was half hiding behind her and half looking at the 
Super Soldier.  Doggett felt like he had joined a 
conversation already in progress.  Monica seemed completely 
up to speed on the situation, and as usual, he was 
clueless.  "It's Joy, isn't it?  You're getting a stronger 
signal."

"I didn't know she was here, but I'm glad she is."  The man 
smiled, and took a step towards the girl.  Joy retreated 
even further behind Monica, though she poked her head 
around, still curious, but cautious. 

"No, stay back," Monica said, bringing her hand up.  His 
smile melted away, but he continued to look at Joy.  "Who 
are you?"

"My name is Aiden.  I came because it will not be safe here 
much longer.  I want you to come with me.  So I can protect 
you."

Doggett laughed, a breathy huff of air escaping as he 
spoke.  "Right.  You are a Super Soldier, aren't you, and 
you want to be our bodyguard?  Unbelievable."  Doggett 
said, brushing imaginary dirt from his pants, a habit from 
the sandlot as a kid.    

"I'm not a Super Soldier, at least not in the way you 
think."

"What other way is there?  You're a killing machine created 
by the military," Doggett said.

"No, I wasn't."

"I just buried an axe to the hilt into your chest.  I saw 
the hole heal in front of my eyes.  Are you trying to tell 
me you're just an ordinary man?  I've heard a lot of 
stories in my life, but that one just about takes the cake.  
Did you hear him, Monica?  He's just regular guy," Doggett 
said.

"That's not what he said, John," Gibson said. 

"Then what *is* he?"

"He's an alien," Monica said.  Sometimes Doggett wondered 
if she was telepathic, too.  Or crazy, though he wasn't 
sure if there was a difference.

"Not exactly.  Once I was human.  Then I was taken, and now 
I am something else."

"Oh," Doggett said, looking up to the ceiling, nodding and 
slapping his hands on his thighs.  "That makes perfect 
sense."

As if on cue, the trailer started shaking.


^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Washington, D.C.
December 21, 2012
6:39 pm

Tom Davis jogged down the stainless steel hallway, past the 
nursery and toward the section known as the Dormitory.  He 
was still about fifty yards from the door, but already he 
could hear their screams hurling past him, sliding over the 
sterile, cold metal that coated the corridor like a latex 
glove.  If someone had asked him to guess, he would have 
said that at least fifty people were responsible for the 
terrible noise; but he knew better.

Tom reached the magnetically sealed, passcode-protected 
door that separated him from The Twelve.  Or rather, The 
Eleven.  He pressed his thumb to the scanner, and a series 
of numbers blinked over ten squares randomly before 
stopping.  Tom punched in his code and the door let out a 
breath as the magnetic seal let go of its grip.  He pushed 
the door open and walked inside the Dormitory.

White walls with stainless steel accents glared at him, 
winking at him under the omnipresent fluorescent lighting 
of the main lobby.  It was the home of twelve children, but 
Tom had vague recollections of trips to the dentist's 
office when he was still human that were more jovial.  At 
least at the dentist's office there had been a giant 
plastic tooth with lips and eyes sitting in the lobby.  
That was one of the images he seemed to recall most 
vividly.  His mind was mostly Swiss cheese when it came to 
his former life, but for some inconceivable reason he could 
not forget that laughing tooth.

Once past the lobby, a wide corridor lead to the series of 
rooms that made up the primary quarters and living area for 
the children.  The girls shared one bedroom and the boys 
another, and between them there was a common area where the 
children usually could be found during their rare free 
periods.  

That's where they were now.

Inside the living area, the noise was less precise, less 
horrifically vague then it had been in the hallway.  
Instead of random, enhanced disembodied voices, Tom could 
hear the calls of each specific child.  

For the past fifteen minutes, ever since the start of Phase 
II, the children had been in a state of panic.  Most of 
them were huddled near each other on the white, functional 
furniture.  Orderlies had surrounded them, and when one 
would approach the group, the children would press together 
into a tighter circle, comforting and protecting each 
other.  The only audible sounds were wordless shrieks, but 
Tom knew they spoke to each other just the same.  He could 
not understand what they were saying.  They were too adept 
at controlling their minds, especially when together.  He 
only heard random whispers, more like the white noise sound 
of machinery than voices of children.

As Tom approached them, he was surprised that not even one 
child paid any attention to his arrival.  Usually, it was 
nearly impossible to sneak up on them.  Even through the 
tightly closed-off living space, they heard his thoughts. 
Sometimes, it seemed to Tom, they heard his thoughts before 
he even thought them.  He wouldn't have been surprised if 
that was the truth.  Not much surprised him when it came to 
these kids.

"It's okay," Tom said, waving the orderlies away from the 
Twelve. "I'm here now.  You all can leave."

The orderlies, who were dressed in the requisite white 
clothing straight out of an episode of The Twilight Zone, 
reluctantly backed away, several of them mumbling colorful 
epithets directed at him.  Tom knew he was not well 
respected among the Level D Hybrids.  For that matter, he 
wasn't well respected among the Level B's either, his own 
peer group.  Whether or not anybody liked him at all, it 
didn't change the fact that he was in charge of the entire 
Alien Human Hybrid program, which meant his first priority 
was to The Twelve.  

Or, the Eleven.

When the last of the men had left the room, the children 
slowly calmed down.  Tom had never directly mistreated 
them, and though they knew he was the one responsible for 
the tests, he sensed they never felt uneasy when it was 
just he alone in their presence.  

"It's okay now. Don't be afraid.  Nothing will happen to 
you."

The children stood in front of him, staring for what felt 
to Tom like several minutes longer than the normal standard 
for labeling it an uncomfortable silence.  More than that, 
it felt to him like the children were scanning him, the way 
an MRI machine scans the brain.  They were trying to peel 
away the layers of his mind to determine his motives and 
truthfulness.  Before Tom's discomfort could overwhelm him, 
he inhaled a deep breath in preparation to speak, intending 
to break their concentration.  Before he got a word out, 
one of the children stepped forward.  

He was tall for an eleven year old boy and his dark hair 
was cut into a military style buzz.  He was officially 
known as "A3," but Tom knew he had been born Christian 
Drews.  It was improper to call the children by their 
former names.  His superiors would reprimand him for it if 
they knew he regularly did so.  It would be too personal.  
For all intents and purposes, the children were laboratory 
animals now.  Who they had been before was as irrelevant as 
who Tom Davis himself had once been.

Christian's mother had been "taken" during the later stages 
of The Project, and his father, (at least according to 
Christian's birth certificate), had been a government 
employee.  Both of Christian's parents had been tragically 
killed in a traffic accident two years ago leaving the nine 
year old in the custody of the state.  

That was the official version of the story.

"There are so many," Christian said, his voice steady.  His 
tone had a strangely innocent quality to it, yet at the 
same time he spoke with grace and the surety one would only 
expect from a person of great age and wisdom gained from 
experience in the ways of the world.  It seemed 
contradictory to Tom, yet perfectly natural.  After all, 
there was very little that was completely natural about any 
of the children.

"You all should relax.  Nothing will happen to you," Tom 
said.  That had sounded good.  Even he was starting to 
believe the words that came out of his own mouth.  
Apparently the old adage was true: If you say it long 
enough, you'll start to believe it.

"They're dying," Christian said.

"But you're safe," Tom said.  He looked around to all of 
the children.  "You are all safe."

"We know.  We are very special," Christian said, looking 
down as he recited the party line without emotion.  
Whenever there were tests, whenever the children questioned 
why, the only answer they ever got was "you're very special 
to us."  It was true.  One of the rare truths they were 
told on a regular basis, not that they were routinely lied 
to either.  They were usually not told much of anything.  

"Yes, that's right.  You are," Tom said, needing to look 
away from the boy's eyes.

"Why aren't the others special?"

"The others?"

"Them.  The others.  Up there."  Christian jerked his head 
upward, indicating whatever was above the surface of the 
bunker they were hidden away inside.

Understanding dawned on Tom, and he knew Christian meant 
the rest of humanity.  It caught him off-guard and he 
stuttered slightly though his response.  "Everybody can't 
be special.  Then everyone would be ordinary."

"They're dying," Christian said again, almost robot-like.  

"It will be over soon.  Try not to think about it."  It was 
no use denying what was happening.  The children could hear 
it all around them, even if he could not.  Tom was a Level 
B Hybrid, advanced compared to men, but the word inferior 
was a gross understatement when he compared himself to the 
Level A's.  Their differences were subtle to an 
unsophisticated observer.  He was Salieri to their Mozart.  
Twelve Mozarts.  Tom and his breed were a practice run 
before the real show.  Level B's and all who came before 
were the dress rehearsal.  The Level A's were opening 
night, the real deal.

"How long does special last?"

Tom opened his mouth to answer that special lasts forever, 
but in his mind he understood the true meaning of the 
question.  He didn't have to be a mind reader to understand 
it.  Does special mean forever, or does it mean as long as 
the children are useful to them?  

When Tom finally decided what to tell the boy, he looked up 
to find that Christian had moved away and had seated 
himself on the stark white sofa nearby.  Christian's hands 
were neatly folded in his lap and he looked away toward the 
cold white wall of the dormitory corridor.  

The boy had already gotten his answer.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Rural Wyoming
December 21, 2012
4:14 pm

William was soaked.  

The long sleeved t-shirt he wore clung to his body like a 
wetsuit. The cloth felt rubbery and sticky, and it was 
starting to itch.  The road had become a muddy, pot-hole 
ridden obstacle, and with each step he took, dirt 
splattered up onto him and his clothing, coating him in a 
gooey, gritty slime.  He wanted to tear the shirt off, but 
he'd have to stop and there wasn't time.  The air was 
probably forty degrees Fahrenheit, but his body radiated 
heat.  For all he knew, he was wet from his own sweat just 
as much as from the rain.  It didn't matter either way.

In the isolated countryside, with few people within range, 
and no inclination to listen to those who were, William had 
only one thought in his mind.  And it was his alone.

Find a doctor.  

The thought echoed inside his head.  

Findadoctorfindadoctorfindadoctor.

It was exactly three miles from his house to Doctor Levin's 
house.  He'd ridden his bike there dozens of times last 
summer to play with the doctor's son, Eric.  William and 
Eric were in the same class, and both loved baseball.  Eric 
caught and William pitched.  They'd spend hours in the 
field behind the Levin's house just playing catch or 
hitting grounders to each other.  Occasionally, they'd get 
a group of local boys together and play a real pickup game.  
There'd been more than one occasion when Eric's dad was 
summoned to patch up a scrape or ice down a sore shoulder.  
If anyone could help his parents, William knew it would be 
Doc Levin.  

He only wished he'd remembered to take his bike this time.  
William had been so focused on finding the doctor, that 
he'd gotten a mile and a half down the road before he 
realized he was running.  By then, it was too late.  He was 
halfway to the Levin's and there wasn't time to turn back.  
Besides, he wasn't sure if he could stop his legs if he 
wanted to.

He reached the bottom of the steps to the Levin's house; a 
large Victorian-style structure with painted dormers and 
decorative trim, atypical from the usual farmhouses that 
dotted this part of rural Wyoming.  

The main entrance to the house was at the top of the steps 
that lead up about ten feet to the wooden wrap-around 
porch.  Around the side of the house on the ground level, 
the doctor maintained a small private practice.  Once, Eric 
had told William that his dad had the office as more of a 
hobby.  He used it mostly to fill up the time when he 
wasn't on the lecture circuit.  Doc Levin's real job, as 
Eric liked to put it, was flying around the country showing 
other doctors how to cut up people and getting paid a lot 
of money.  Doc Levin was a heart surgeon and evidently was 
in such high demand that he spent more nights away from the 
family than with them.  Though, if a conversation William 
had overheard his parents having about the Levin's was 
true, the doctor's work wasn't the only reason he was away 
so frequently.  

William hoped that Doc Levin had decided to spend Christmas 
with his family this year.  

William followed the stone walkway to the side of the 
house, and as he approached the door to Doctor Levin's 
office, he stopped to listen.  He couldn't hear a thing.  
Being the wife of an important, rich doctor, Mrs. Levin was 
usually at home, and since school was out for Christmas 
break, William was reasonably sure that Eric would be home 
as well.  

William turned around, looked back toward the driveway. The 
Levin's had three cars, which were rarely parked in the 
garage.  William could see Mrs. Levin's silver Lexus SUV 
and Mr. Levin's emerald green Jaguar sitting in front of 
the house in their usual spots.  Nearly out of site, 
partially blocked by the house was the third car, the blue 
Nissan pickup truck that Mr. Levin used most frequently.  

They had to be home.

But there was no sign anyone was nearby.  No sign at all.  
No sounds, no thoughts.  Nothing at all.  It occurred to 
William that he hadn't picked up Mrs. Levin, yet.  In the 
past, he'd been able to hear Eric's mother in his mind by 
the time he'd gotten to the drive-way.  Often he'd catch 
her reading one of the trashy romance novels that his own 
mother pretended not to read.   The words "heaving bosoms" 
usually made William's stomach turn when they came from his 
own mother's mind, but somehow when it was Eric's mom, he 
found it somewhat amusing.  Once he'd told Eric about it 
just to see him squirm.  You did that kind of thing to your 
best friend.  

But now, there was nothing.  No Mrs. Levin, no Doctor 
Levin, and not even Eric.  William peered in through the 
window to the doctor's office, scanning the room for any 
sign of life.  The room looked empty, though not abandoned.  
Several drawers were open and medical supplies were 
littered about the room.  William jiggled the door handle, 
expecting it to be locked, but when it wasn't he pushed the 
door open and walked inside.  The office, usually kept tidy 
by Mrs. Levin, was in complete disarray.  Medicine bottles 
were lying on their sides, most with their contents 
spilling out.  Ribbons of gauze and surgical tape were 
scattered over the floor and cupboards and drawers were 
wide open, or completely removed altogether.  

William ran out of the office, back toward the front of the 
house.  He took the front steps two at a time, taking in 
deep gulping breaths when he reached the top.  The front 
door was slightly open and William didn't hesitate about 
walking through it without knocking.  The foyer opened up 
into the living room, and once inside the smell hit him 
immediately.  

When he was five years old, William had caught his first 
fish.  He'd carried the two-pound bass around on a stringer 
for days, not allowing his father to clean it, or even 
touch it.  He was so proud that he'd caught it, he wanted 
to lead it around like it was a puppy on a leash.  But 
inevitably, the fish began to rot and the smell that 
emanated from it was something that William had never 
forgotten.  

The same smell assaulted his nostrils in the Levin's living 
room.

"Eric?  Doctor Levin?"  He called, his voice sounding small 
to his ears.  William walked further into the room.  There 
were two full-length leather sofas, but they faced away 
from William, toward the large fireplace where embers 
flickered softly, sending almost no smoke up through the 
flu.  "It's Will... Will Van de Kamp.  Is anybody home?"  He 
called softly, hoping that the reason he got no answer was 
because nobody heard him.  William hesitated, then walked 
into the living room around the sofas.  

Once around, he stopped.

Lying on one sofa was Mrs. Levin and across from her on the 
other sofa was Eric.  Blackened, oozing burns covered the 
skin on their faces, possibly their entire bodies, though 
they were covered to the neck in soft, patchwork quilts.  
Eric looked like he was sleeping, but Mrs. Levin's eyes 
stared up at William, and her mouth hung open in eternal 
confusion.  

"Mrs. Levin?"  William asked shakily.  He'd seen a dead 
body once before.  His great grandmother had died the 
previous year and he'd gone with his parents to her wake.  
But the Levins looked nothing like the waxy, almost plastic 
version of his great grandmother that he'd seen that day.  
Instead, Eric and Mrs. Levin reminded William of his fish.  

It was an image he didn't want to associate with a human 
being.

William turned around, closed his eyes, and silently 
pleaded for the image to stay behind him.  When he opened 
his eyes again, he noticed that there was a man sitting in 
a chair in the corner by the large picture window that 
faced into the front yard.  Doctor Levin was slumped in an 
oversized, stuffed leather chair with legs sprawled out in 
front of him, arms draped and hanging limply over the arms 
of the chair.  

"Doctor Levin?"  William inched closer, shuffling his 
sneakers along the hardwood.  "You have to wake up, sir.  
My mom and dad are sick and I need your help."  William 
wiped away a tear from his eye before it could slide down 
his cheek.  He took in a deep breath to gather up his 
composure.  This was not real.  

Doctor Levin's chest didn't rise or fall, and William saw 
that he had the same burn marks on his face as Eric and 
Mrs. Levin.  

The same burn marks as his parents.

As the memory of why he'd gone looking for the doctor hit 
him, William gave one last look toward his friend lying on 
the couch, and ran out of the house.  

William ran down the steps, nearly flying to the ground, 
and turned back toward the doctor's office.  He threw the 
door open, rushed in and gathered up anything he could 
carry.  He stuffed alcohol and gauze and as many different 
medicines as he could into his pants pockets and hurried 
back out the door.  As he passed by Mrs. Levin's SUV, he 
felt the ground rumble.  William looked up into the sky.   
In the distance, poking through the one endless gray cloud 
that covered the heavens, he saw a triangle-shaped object.  
It was wide, but not very deep from bottom to top.  It was 
sleek and reminded William of a Stealth Fighter jet -- but 
this was no airplane.  William knew it was a spaceship and 
he also knew he'd seen it, along with other types of 
spacecraft before, if not in reality then in his dreams.  

From the spaceship's center, there came a bright blue 
light.  The wind began to blow even harder around him, over 
him and something sounding like a foghorn wailed.  It hurt 
his ears, and William covered them with his hands.  The 
light from the ship grew brighter, seemingly bent by the 
heavy rainfall.

"No!  Get out of here!"  William shouted at the ship as if 
scolding a stray dog.  "You're not real!"

After that all he could do was run.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

CHAPTER NINE

Rural Wyoming
December 21, 2012
4:29 pm

"What's happening?"  Rob Van de Kamp cried as he lost his 
balance and fell backward.  On his way down, he desperately 
grabbed a corner of downy comforter in a vain attempt to 
steady himself.  Instead he landed with a thud on the 
hardwood floor and sat there dazed, one hand grasping 
clumps of bedding, the other flat on the floor to break his 
fall.  

Outside, the earth rumbled, vibrating both the Van de 
Kamp's house and the fillings in Mulder's teeth.  The 
wailing fog horn sound had only lasted a few seconds, but 
the ground continued to tremor in its place.  The noise of 
objects -- furniture, dishes, even appliances -- shifting 
within the house filled the room along with the panicked 
voices of Rob and Liam.

Scully stood with her body half pressed up against the 
glass of the bedroom window and with one arm stuck out 
behind her, about twenty seconds too late to catch Rob on 
his way down to the floor.  She seemed unaware she had 
missed him.  Her left hand shielded the glare from a bluish 
light, which poured into the room, allowing her to see out 
into the ever-dimming twilight.  

"I see it, Mulder.  There it is!"  Scully said, her voice 
higher pitched than it was normally, filled with wonder, 
almost childlike awe.  It reminded Mulder of when he had 
first met her and she had been a green agent and a thorn in 
his side, until he had let himself know her.  Though she no 
longer proclaimed to be a skeptic, at least when it came to 
the existence of extraterrestrials, Mulder knew that Scully 
hadn't quite believed this day would come.  Not until she 
had looked outside the Van de Kamp's window to see the 
alien craft for herself.  She had seen alien ships before, 
but Mulder suspected this was somehow different for her.  
This was the beginning of the end and in spite of the 
terror imposed by witnessing the days events, seeing the 
space ship was also awe-inspiring.  

But just as Scully's reaction was predictable to him, 
Mulder's own desires came to him as a complete surprise.  

The inertia of most of Mulder's adult life had been 
thrusting him toward this moment.  Now that he was here, at 
what could be considered the paramount moment of mankind's 
existence, he found that he had no wish at all to look out 
to see the object hovering in the sky.  He told himself 
that he had seen these craft before, had even been aboard 
one.  The mystery was gone, or at least it was not raw and 
new.  But that wasn't the whole reason.  Mulder had lost 
his sense of wonderment long ago and now he only felt like 
puking his guts out whenever he thought of Little Gray Men.  
The new car smell was gone and Mulder would be the first to 
say 'good riddance.'

He cleared his throat, and tried to hide his anxiety.  "Is 
it a big round disc or a little triangle shaped one?"  
Mulder asked, calmly.  He hoped he sounded calm.  He 
swallowed a mouthful of saliva and fought off a wave of 
nausea.  He wasn't even sure why he asked the question.  
There was some significance to the ship's shape, but he 
didn't know what it was.  Some faded memory poked at him 
deep inside his brain, strained to come out, but instead 
lodged itself, creating a clot.  

"Not sure.  It's still too far away," Scully said, her face 
still pressed against the window's glass.  "I think it's a 
little triangle-shaped one though."

Somehow, Mulder felt a little better about that.  He had 
been aboard one of the bigger disc-shaped craft.  Maybe 
that's all it was, a Pavlovian fear response to the torture 
he had endured while imprisoned on an alien ship.  As much 
as he wanted to believe that, he knew it was just a 
comfortable lie.

"Good," he muttered softly.

"Why does it matter?"  Scully asked.  She had turned around 
and was looking at him with an expressionless face, waiting 
for an answer.  

After a moment, he gave her the most honest answer he could 
muster.  "I'm not sure.  I just know it is."

Scully squinted at him, and then turned back to the window.  
He was being truthful, and he could only guess that had 
come across on his face.  He had never spoken in great 
detail with her about his own abduction, though she had 
often tried to pry it out of him.  Mostly, he stayed quiet 
because he couldn't remember the details.  His experience 
was mostly ethereal, based on feeling and random images.  
But now and then something specific would pop into his 
mind, a partial memory without context, but which his 
instincts told him was not pleasant.

The shaking died down to a barely noticeable shudder.  
Mulder turned towards Liam, who sat frozen in his chair as 
if he had been turned to stone.  Rob was still on the 
floor, trying to use the sheets as a rope to pull himself 
upright.  He called his wife's name over and over again, 
his fear likely amplified by his inability to see her.  

Mulder stepped over to help him, and Rob jolted when Mulder 
touched his shoulders.  "It's okay.  Let me help you," 
Mulder said, raising his hands to let Rob know he didn't 
want to hurt him.  Waiting a moment, Mulder stuck his right 
hand out to Rob with his palm up.

Rob hesitated, returned Mulder's gesture, grabbing his hand 
firmly and letting Mulder pull him to his feet.  Once 
Mulder was satisfied Rob wouldn't fall off the bed, he 
stepped away to prove he wasn't a threat.

"What is happening?"  Rob asked again.

Mulder opened his mouth to answer but found that he had no 
idea how to begin.  How do you tell a man who only a day 
before had been living a normal happy life with his family 
that everything he knew about the world was completely 
wrong?  And oh by the way, your son is really my son.  

Then Liam saved him from deciding.

"It's the end of the world as you know it," Liam said 
gravely.

"And I feel fine," Mulder couldn't help muttering.

Scully shot Mulder a look and he gave a sideways smile back 
in response.

Rob began to make his way around the large bed grasping the 
comforter like it was a railing.  As he passed, Rob glanced 
at Liam distastefully and continued on, brow sweating 
profusely with the effort.

Mulder stepped up to where Scully stood near the window.  
She had resumed her study of the craft hovering in the sky 
outside.

"Scully, I don't think we should stay here much longer.  
That thing may not be right over us, but it's a little too 
close for comfort if you ask me," Mulder said, his lips 
pressed to her ear, voice low. "And if that thing over 
there..." he jerked his head in the direction of the dead 
Super Soldier, "...is any indication, somebody knows 
William is here."

"Where should we go?  Mr. Van de Kamp is still weak, and 
his wife is unconscious," Scully said, matching Mulder's 
tone.  "Besides, we still don't know where William..."

"Doctor, help!  Please, help me."  Rob was nearly 
shrieking.  He had finally made it over to Susan's side of 
the bed.  He bent over her on the bed, lightly shaking her.  
"My wife!  She's not breathing."

Scully rushed around to Susan's side of the bed, nearly 
knocking Rob over as she did it.  Mulder watched as her 
fingers quickly went to Susan's throat, seeking the 
rhythmic tapping of Susan's pulse inside her carotid 
artery.    

"Mulder, get my bag!"

Mulder grabbed Scully's black medical bag and with four 
large steps he stood next to her holding the wide-open bag 
out.  Scully took it and rummaged inside.  She pulled out a 
stethoscope.  With one hand, she put the listening end to 
her ears, and with the other hand she placed the business 
end of the instrument to Susan's chest, not even bothering 
to warm up the cold metal.  

Scully listened.  

After a moment, the intense expression she had on her face 
turned to a frown.  She shook her head and looked up to 
Mulder, who nodded, understanding her silent message.

"Is she okay?"  Rob asked, breaking the silence, not 
knowing their unspoken code.  "Doctor?  Is my wife all 
right?"

Scully moved back from the bed a step and removed the 
stethoscope from her ears.  "Mr. Van de Kamp... I'm sorry."

"What?  No, she just needs some medicine. I just need to 
take her to the hospital," Rob said.  He pushed Scully out 
of the way and returned to his position by Susan's side.  
"Susan, honey?  You need to wake up."  He took Susan's hand 
and patted it lightly with his own.

The tenderness in Rob's voice knotted Mulder's throat.  
Against his will he imagined he was in Rob's place and it 
was Scully lying motionless on the bed.  He had to look 
away.  

Rob shook his head back and forth, repeating "No, no, no" 
over and over again in a sort of half whisper half creaking 
voice, and looked up to Scully.  "There's nothing you can 
do for her?  It's just the flu.  This is 2012.  People 
don't die from the flu anymore!"

"They do from this flu," Mulder said.

"What are you talking about?" Rob yelled at them.  Mulder 
never guessed he would use the word shrill to describe a 
man, but that was the only word that accurately expressed 
Rob Van de Kamp's voice at that moment.  

Rob threw the covers completely off of Susan's body, and 
shoved his hands underneath her.  He began to lift his wife 
off of the bed.  "I gotta get her to the hospital.  Gotta 
find my car keys.  She just needs help," he said to no one 
in particular.

"Mr. Van de Kamp, there's nothing anybody can do for her," 
Scully said.  She put her hands on his shoulder to still 
him, both to comfort and keep him from collapsing on the 
floor from fatigue.  Rob vainly struggled to lift Susan up.  
He barely had the strength to keep himself upright, but 
when Mulder joined Scully to help calm him down, Rob slid 
his hands away from Susan and shoved Mulder away with 
surprising force.  Not enough to knock Mulder over, but the 
point was made clear.

"Leave us alone!  My wife is going to be fine!" 

Mulder and Scully didn't attempt to further soothe him.  
They were strangers to him and they both understood loss 
and grief.  As Rob's denial turned into sobs, they silently 
decided the best they could do for the man was to give him 
his privacy, and allow him to face the reality that had 
just sucker punched him in the gut alone.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Kayenta Valley, Arizona
December 22, 2012
11:37 am

"Get off the road!  It's coming right at us!"  John Doggett 
shouted. He'd screamed so much during the past few hours 
that he had almost screamed himself hoarse.  Gibson was 
quietly hoping he would.  Sooner, rather than later.

During the past ten years, John had filled a void left by 
Fox Mulder, who had replaced Gibson's father as the most 
significant man in Gibson's life.  And though he loved John 
like a father or an older brother, John was one pathetic 
wail from getting his ass kicked by a short, awkward, but 
very special former lab rat.  The headline would read, 
'Former Marine, NYPD Cop, FBI Agent Bludgeoned to Death by 
Freak of Nature.'  Of course, that would be if any 
newspaper reporters were alive to tell the story.  Chances 
were slim.

In fairness to John, their unlikely band of five had been 
chased by a triangular shaped space ship through the 
Painted Desert of Arizona to their current location at the 
edge of the Kayenta Valley in the northeastern corner of 
the state.  The Super Soldier, though it preferred the term 
Alien Replicant, now known to them as Aiden, was driving 
Monica's Honda, and the remaining four humans were crammed 
anywhere they could fit into the rest of the compact car's 
space.

"It's been coming at us for a hundred miles.  Why doesn't 
it take us out?"  Monica asked.  John wasn't the only one 
getting on Gibson's nerves.  Monica's question was fair, 
but the answer seemed blatantly obvious to Gibson.  Wasn't 
she the one who had pointed out the effects of the geology 
to John?  The craft seemed to bounce above them, reminding 
Gibson of the positive poles of two magnets repelling each 
other.  The alien wanted to come closer, but it either 
wouldn't, or couldn't.

"Listen pal, I'm not entirely sure how you conned me into 
entering this vehicle with you, not to mention letting you 
drive, but if at all possible, could you not get us mere 
mortal humans killed?  We don't silly putty ourselves back 
together.  Pull the hell over," John said, his voice 
escalating on each word.

"It's afraid," Gibson muttered.  The others didn't seem to 
notice.  

Aiden continued driving.  Gibson thought that to the rest 
of them, though perhaps not to Joy, it appeared that Aiden 
could not hear John and Monica's pleadings.  His 
concentration on driving appeared surgically precise.  If 
he heard the others speaking to him, he gave no outward 
indication.  But to Gibson, Aiden wore a well-tailored suit 
of false emotion.  Inside, he was as filled with fear and 
self-doubt as the rest of them were.  What's more, Gibson 
could hear the conflict within the man as he argued with 
whatever being was driving the alien craft that pursued 
them.  The alien in the ship berated Aiden via the link 
between their minds.  Gibson couldn't understand everything 
said.  The alien communicated in English and partly in what 
could probably be considered an extraterrestrial language.  
It was difficult to keep up with the largely one-sided 
conversation, but it was mostly about honor, loyalty and 
the futility of fleeing and fighting for an inferior and 
pathetic race.  

At least that was the gist.  

The alien in the ship was playing the game of psychological 
operations.  What Gibson hadn't been able to figure out was 
whether the alien was toying with Aiden, or simply buying 
time until it figured out a way to kill them all.  

*Don't worry, it's not going to break me.*

The voice came inside Gibson's head in the not quite 
comforting, yet not completely upsetting way that voices 
always did.  It came like a radio volume suddenly going 
from comfortable cocktail party ambiance to Nirvana-level 
mosh-pit party; from background chatter to keynote speech.

*How long have you been listening to me?* Gibson asked 
back.  

*I'm always listening, Gibson.  We're the same that way,* 
Aiden replied.

*I always thought I was alone.  The only one.*

*None of us is alone,* Aiden said.  When he spoke, Gibson 
caught Joy shift her head toward  Aiden, and then turn 
abruptly down again.  She played with a frayed end of 
Monica's jacket and looked out through the Honda's backseat 
window, but her eyes kept shifting semi-consciously back 
between Gibson and Aiden as they spoke to each other inside 
their heads.  

*Why does the alien chase--* 

"Jesus Christ!"  John yelled, interrupting Gibson's 
telepathic thought.  "Step on it!"

They all looked back towards the ship.  It was spinning, 
rolling towards them in the air.  It looked like an 
obsidian arrowhead flying towards its mark, and the five of 
them were the prey it sought.  Aiden did as John had 
commanded and pressed his foot against the accelerator 
nearly to the car's floor.  They approached a cluster of 
naturally painted red rocks -- deeply infused with iron -- 
and as they came to one that arched over the desert floor 
like a gate, Aiden swerved off the road, and went through 
it.  

What at first seemed to be a controlled maneuver by the 
alien quickly became evident that it was anything but as 
the spaceship reached the arch itself.  It zig-zagged 
behind the car, still spinning, and then accelerated past, 
crashing into the cliffs nearly a half a mile ahead of the 
car.  A plume of smoke rose into the air where it had hit, 
black as oil and thick as honey.  Aiden continued driving 
towards the site, his speed staying a constant, determined 
rate.

"You're not heading towards it!"  John yelled.  "Get back 
on the road."

"This is where we're going," Aiden finally said.  "I told 
you we'll be safe there."

"But if that thing driving that ship is still alive..."

"It can't hurt us now," Aiden said calmly.

A few moments later, they arrived at the crash site.  A 
fire still blazed as it consumed the ship's potent fuel.  
Aiden parked the car and got out, which Gibson sensed was 
much to the horror of John and Monica.  Gibson soon 
followed to Monica's surprise, Joy jumped out of the car as 
well.  Monica tried to call her back, but the girl paid no 
attention, so she followed the girl instead.  John got out 
of the car, and hurried over to the rest of the group.

Eventually, they all stood near the crash, each surveying a 
separate part of the wreckage.  Aiden peered into the 
cockpit and confirmed what he already knew.  The alien's 
voice had been silenced in his head as the ship had hit the 
ground.  Now he could see the alien's charred body as well.  
It wore a helmet with a sun visor that masked its face, but 
Gibson recognized it instantly as the same type of being he 
had once met inside a nuclear power plant many years before 
when he was just a boy.  Its shape looked faintly human, 
but the head was oversized, looking enormous on the 
relatively small body.

"There.  Now do you believe in aliens, John?"  Gibson 
muttered without accusation.  

"What's this?"  Monica asked.  She was standing a ways 
apart from the group, looking down at the ground at a large 
pool of black liquid.  As Gibson moved closer, he realized 
the pool was moving, not running the way liquid always does 
towards its lowest point, but with what seemed to be 
purpose.  Awareness.  It would start in one direction, and 
then change and go the other way.  He saw Joy moving 
towards Monica to get a better look as realization of what 
the substance was struck him.

"Joy, don't go any closer!" Gibson said.

But he spoke too late, both aloud and in his mind.

Joy had reached the edge of the pool of Black Oil.  The 
thick, viscous substance continued to move towards her, 
until the tips of her shoes were just two inches away from 
it.  And then it stopped.  It began to bubble and tremor as 
if being brewed within a sorcerer's caldron, infused with 
some evil magic and ready to explode.  They all stood 
transfixed on the substance, both afraid and fascinated by 
it.

When the Black Oil finally looked as though it would shoot 
into the air like Old Faithful, unable to bear whatever 
forces were acting upon it, it suddenly stopped its 
turbulence.  It looked like it had been inside a 
centrifuge, torn apart, no longer one whole part, but 
rather the individual ingredients that formed it.  Water 
oozed away from the thicker black substance, which had 
dried into a peppery powder.  The dry earth swallowed up 
the water, and the wind slowly blew the powder away.

"She killed it," Aiden said, his voice filled with more 
emotion than any of them had heard from him so far.  He 
sounded like the stunned soldier left holding the broom of 
the recently melted Wicked Witch of the West in the "Wizard 
of Oz".  He moved closer to Joy, but his gaze was still 
transfixed on the spot where the Black Oil had been.

"Killed what?"  John asked.

"The virus."

"*That* was the virus?  The virus that's killing everyone?"  
John asked, nodding downward.

"No, the virus that's causing the Plague is just a 
variation.  That--" he said, pointing to the empty spot on 
the dirt, "--is the original virus.  It's what started all 
of this."

"I don't understand.  That was just a pool of sludge," John 
said, bending down to inspect closer.

"We have to get to the camp.  I have to tell the others."  
Aiden turned around and headed back to the car.  Though 
dazed, one by one the others followed him, nodding in 
agreement absently, leaving John to stand confused once 
again as the evidence continued to dissolve before him.

"So, we're leaving then?"  He shouted back toward the car, 
his arms spread out wide to his sides.

Though Gibson's back was to him, he heard John mutter 
inside his head, "Feel free to keep me in the dark."  

All Gibson could think was just open your eyes.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Rural Wyoming
December 21, 2012
4:58 pm

Once they could no longer hear Rob sobbing, Scully and 
Mulder returned to the bedroom dragging a partially untied 
Liam with them.  Rob sat beside his wife on the bed, his 
cheeks were tear-streaked but dry.  He cradled Susan in his 
arms and gently rocked her back and forth.

As the three entered the room, Rob looked up at them.  He 
was more composed now, but confusion covered his eyes like 
a veil.

"I don't understand any of this.  What is happening?"

He sounded to Mulder like a different man.  He was no 
longer the hysterical, delirious person they had met less 
than an hour earlier.  Mulder imagined this was how Rob Van 
de Kamp normally was, quiet and composed.  But Mulder also 
guessed Rob usually had a quality of cheerfulness that was 
likely gone forever.  

"Mr. Van de Kamp... I know you're very confused at the 
moment, and I wish we had more time right now to explain 
everything to you, but we don't.  We all need to leave as 
soon as possible, but first we need to find your son.  Do 
you have any idea where he may have gone?"  Scully asked in 
the same cool manner Mulder had heard her use in countless 
interviews of suspects and witnesses.  He always admired 
her gift of showing both empathy and firmness.  

Rob shook his head.  "The neighbor's house maybe.  There's 
not much out here.  We're sort of isolated.  Why do we need 
to leave?"

"Mulder... can you help Mr. Van de Kamp to the window?"  

Mulder took a step towards Rob, but Rob let go of Susan's 
hand and held up his own to Mulder.  Mulder understood.  
Rob wanted to stand on his own two feet.  These two 
strangers had already imposed enough on his dignity.  "No, 
it's okay.  What's outside the window?"  Rob asked.  He 
stood up but Mulder stayed close just in case Rob grew 
dizzy on his way.

"I think the window's the best place to begin our story," 
Scully said.

Once Rob made his way over to Scully standing at the 
window, she put her hands on his shoulder, making sure Rob 
was stable and then she moved aside.

"Look out there," Scully said, tapping the window softly.

Rob gave her an apprehensive glance, not quite sure if she 
was putting him on or if she was serious, and then he 
pressed his face to the glass, shielding his eyes from the 
light of the room at the same time.  

"What am I supposed to see?"

"Look towards the horizon.  Do you see it?  It's the source 
of the blue light," Scully said.

"What?  That airplane?" he asked, then turned his neck back 
to face her.

"Look closer," Scully said and Rob did.

"It looks like a stealth fighter... but it's just 
hovering," Rob said.  He turned back to Scully, and shook 
his head.  "I don't understand."

"That is no stealth fighter," Mulder said, not bothering to 
beat around the bush.  "It's a spaceship."

Rob turned his whole body around to face squarely with 
Mulder.  "A spaceship?" he asked, smirking.

"Yes, a spaceship," Mulder said with no expression no his 
face.

"You mean like Little Green Men?"  Rob asked, grinning 
wildly.  It was the look Mulder had seen from countless 
others in his life.  The one that said you are a complete 
nutcase, but I don't want to come right out and say that.

"Listen, Rob.  I wish we had time right now to spell it out 
for you, but we don't.  It's a sixty-five year old story.  
Look closer.  Does that thing look like any airplane you've 
ever seen before?" Mulder asked tiredly.  "It's a 
spaceship.  More are coming, so we need to get you and your 
son out of here."

In spite of himself, Rob did look closer.  "Holy cow!  Did 
you see that?  It was hovering like a helicopter and then a 
second later, bam!" he said, clapping his hands together, 
"it was gone."

"Do you know of any airplane that can do that?"  Mulder's 
voice was much louder now.  He felt very impatient.  It was 
times like these that he wished he carried a little 
narrative on his shirt explaining the last seventy or so 
years of human existence.  Maybe a pop-up book.

"No, but--"

"We don't have time," Mulder said, throwing his hands down 
in a karate-chop style mimic of a baseball umpire calling 
"safe."  We need to find William and leave.  We'll tell you 
more on the way.  Scully, help Rob pack.  I'll throw a few 
of William's things in a bag."

"Listen, I'm not leaving this house.  I don't think you two 
are dangerous, but I do think you're crazy, just like him," 
Rob said thrusting a thumb towards Liam.

Mulder put his hands on his hips and clenched his jaw.  He 
looked from Rob to Scully, hoping he saw a solution on her 
face.  He was disappointed to see none.  Scully shook her 
head slightly and sighed.

"I am going to find the keys to my car and take Susan to 
the hospital.  I can't just leave her here," he said, his 
voice breaking as acceptance of her fate slapped him again.  

"What about your son?"

"I don't know.  I'll call the police."

"There are no more police.  There are no more hospitals, no 
more Wyoming, no more USA!  Don't you get it?  Everything--
everything is over!  Except for us," Mulder said.  "But not 
for long, unless we get the hell out of here!"

Almost as soon as Mulder stopped speaking, the low rumble 
began again.  At first, Mulder thought it was a repeat of 
the vibrations brought on by the earlier space ship, but he 
soon realized it was coming from within the bedroom itself, 
not outside.  Mulder turned his head.  The Super Soldier, 
still apparently dead, was in a state of convulsion.  
Mulder thought it looked like a giant catfish flopping 
around on the shore.  And then he heard light footsteps 
approaching cautiously up the stairs.  As the source of the 
footsteps got closer to the bedroom, the more the body on 
the floor floundered, until finally it stopped suddenly.

"Dad?  I'm too late, aren't I?"

All at once, the four adults turned toward the doorway.  
Rob simply smiled, his worry lines fading slightly.  Mulder 
watched as Liam dropped to his knees, mumbling something 
Mulder could not understand nor cared to.  Beside him, 
Scully took in a sudden deep breath.  The room grew 
graveyard quiet and for Mulder time stopped.  

Standing just inside the room was the boy who, according to 
Liam, was Quetzalcoatl, The Great Unifier, but Mulder knew 
him as the boy from his dreams.  

It seemed, William had returned.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

CHAPTER TEN

Roswell, New Mexico
May 2002

The motel's vacancy sign flashed overhead, casting a faint 
sparkle of neon color through what had become a torrential 
downpour.  The sign gave off a low electric hum reminding 
Scully vaguely of a bug zapper.  Her uncle Ray had lived in 
rural Virginia and Scully could remember the sound that the 
bluish electricity-infused zapper made during summer visits 
to his house with her family when she was a young girl.  It 
was a favorite pastime of the Scully children.  In 
particular, her brothers Bill, Jr. and Charlie, ever 
fascinated, would watch the glowing lamp draw in unwitting 
insects for hours, long past dusk.  The zapper would hum 
faintly until a bug got too close, then it would shoot out 
a spark of light like a miniature bolt of lightening, and 
the little insect corpse would fall to the ground.

Scully felt a little like one of those bugs now.

Mulder walked slightly ahead of her.  He reached the door 
to their room, unlocked it and held it open for her.  She 
walked underneath his arm into the room carrying a duffle 
bag full of all her worldly possessions.  At least, they 
were all she had now.

"Roswell, Mulder?"

"Poetic, don't you think?"

She didn't answer him, but she gave him a tight-lipped 
smile.  She could think of a few other descriptive words 
more appropriate than poetic.  

Scully threw her duffle on the queen-sized bed, where it 
landed with a mild bounce.  Mulder still stood in the 
doorway, protected from the rain by a slight overhang above 
the sidewalk, which buffered him from the parking lot.

"Now what?"  She asked, her back to him as she worried an 
unraveling thread on the duffle bag's strap.  She wasn't 
angry or accusatory, just tired.  They'd been driving for 
hours in circles.  Backtracking their route, taking sudden 
turns, making sure they had not been followed. They had 
barely spoken, and even though Mulder had driven the entire 
time, her heightened sense of anxiety had sapped most of 
her energy.

"Well, I guess we sleep here tonight and we can decide 
where to go in the morning," Mulder said.

"No, I mean, now what do we do?  Not just tonight, not just 
tomorrow."  She hitched her shoulders up and dropped them.  
"Now what?"  She turned around to face him.

Mulder shook his head slightly.  "I'm not sure I follow."

"I mean, Mulder, where do we go from here?" she asked.  

If someone had asked her what emotion she felt at that 
moment she wouldn't have been able to express it clearly.  
She felt void of everything, aside from exhaustion.  The 
last several days had wiped her out, and it wasn't until 
the last few hours or so, during their drive away from the 
obliterated Anasazi ruins, that what she and Mulder had 
just done finally started to sink in.  This was not just 
another Agents Mulder and Scully Adventure.  They couldn't 
write this one off on an expense report and suffer another 
reprimand in their personnel file.

They were both fugitives and they could never go back home.

She had broken Mulder out of a military prison -- which was 
not something she regretted for a moment.  But she had also 
left her life behind.  She didn't regret that either.  She 
had loved the FBI once, but being an agent was just a job.  
It had given her financial stability, but money meant 
nothing without companionship.  She'd had a beautiful 
apartment, something she had come to despise ever since 
giving William up for adoption.  The place had amplified 
her loneliness to unbearable decibel levels.  In every 
crook, around every corner she seemed to find a reminder of 
what she had lost; a stray bootie here, one of Mulder's 
sweatshirts there.  She had even stayed alone in a hotel 
room for a couple of weeks just after she had signed the 
final paperwork officially handing their son off to a 
social worker and out of her life forever.  

The fact that she would probably never see her mother, or 
her brothers again was painful, dreadfully so, but worse 
than that was the two month old memory of holding William 
in her arms for the very last time.  Only two months had 
passed and now instead of reuniting Mulder with his son, 
and living as one happy family, she was here with Mulder 
alone.  In a rattrap motel in Roswell, New Mexico she had 
what she thought she had been dreaming of for the past year 
-- Mulder safely with her.  

But his reappearance left a bittersweet taste on her tongue 
and though her heart was overjoyed at having him back, it 
was also wracked with guilt, feeling as if it had become 
much smaller than it had been before.  If she had held out 
for just two more months she would have Mulder and William 
and to hell with the rest of the world.  That would be 
perfect happiness.  Instead, she felt perfectly incomplete.  
That would have to be enough, but she knew it never could 
be.

The failure she felt coated her skin like a layer of silt 
and she felt the need to scrub it off.

"I'm going to take a shower," she said, twisting back 
around toward her bag, away from Mulder.  She unzipped the 
large black duffle, and dug through it searching for the 
lone pair of pajamas she'd brought with her.  

"Scully?"  He asked, closing the motel door behind him.  He 
stepped forward and stood just behind her.  He didn't touch 
her, but she could feel his body heat invade her space.  It 
felt good.  Too good.  It was a feeling she'd missed for 
the past year during his absence, but now felt she didn't 
deserve.

"Mulder, I just need to get out of these clothes.  Do you 
mind if I take the first one?"

Instead of an answer, she felt his hands smooth over her 
shoulders, drifting down her back, and around her waist.  
His fingers splayed open on her stomach, and then his mouth 
covered her neck, shocking her cool skin with a wet-warmth 
she wasn't sure she merited. She sucked in a breath, unable 
to exhale, unable to find words to tell him what she was 
feeling.  

A breathy "Mulder" was all she could manage, so she closed 
her eyes, and leaned back into his body.  His hands roamed 
over her until they found the buttons on her chocolate 
brown blouse.  His fingers deftly pushed the buttons 
through the holes until her shirt hung open, but he did not 
take it off.

"Mulder..." she tried again.  They should talk.  Their 
entire partnership had been built upon trust communicated 
through body language and silent words.  It was amazing and 
beautiful and indescribable, but was also the reason it had 
taken them seven years to get to this point when most 
people with half their connection would have hit the sheets 
after the first year, or less.  

They definitely should talk.

She turned around in his arms to face him.  Her logical 
mind wanted to push him away, to end this pre-established 
precedent of dodging the issues and allowing emotion to 
drive their actions.  

As he found her mouth with his own, she told her logical 
brain to stuff it.

What else could possibly go wrong anyway?

She brought her hands to his shoulders, kneaded the lean 
muscles there like a kitten.  Grasp and release.  Grasp and 
release.  She pressed her fingertips into his skin and 
pulled him closer, opening her mouth to him more, touching 
her tongue against his.  In the stark, cheap motel room all 
she could hear was the sound of their desperate breathing 
mixed with the distant sound of the rain outside.  She let 
him guide her backwards until the back of her knees hit the 
edge of the bed and he gently lowered her to the mattress, 
pushing her backward and covering her with his body.  

She arched into him when he ran his hand over her bare 
stomach, not wanting to separate from him again.  They had 
been separated for far too long, and if she could have, she 
would have crawled inside of him forever.

She wrapped her legs around him, content to surround him 
instead.

And that would have to be good enough, too.

^^^^^^^^^

"You've been working out," she said drowsily.  Scully's 
fingertips gently pressed over the pectoral muscles in his 
chest and the bulked up biceps in his arms, reacquainting 
herself with his body.  

"Didn't have a whole lot to keep me busy for the past year.  
You know, aside from jumping off of trains and breaking 
into secret government facilities buried inside of 
mountains," he said, forcing a soft chuckle.

Scully smiled mirthlessly against his chest, staring toward 
the window, where outside it still rained heavily.

They lay like that for several minutes; quiet, neither 
closing their eyes to sleep, neither looking at the other.  
Independently, both of their minds raced to organize what 
had happened in the past few days, and tried to figure out 
what to do next.  What to say now?

"Mulder?"

"Um hmm?" He mumbled as he lazily drew random circular 
patterns over her bare arm.

She wanted to tell him about everything that had happened 
during the last year.  He knew the cold facts, but she 
needed him to understand the reasons for them.  She wanted 
to tell him what it had been like wondering if he was alive 
or dead.  How experiencing failure after failure at 
protecting William had nearly killed her.  That it was 
still killing her.  She wanted to plead with him to forgive 
her for making a terrible decision alone that she had 
regretted from the moment she'd sent William away.  The 
decision she'd made under the assumption that she would 
never see Mulder again.  A decision that had gone horribly 
wrong.  She had given up hope.  She'd lost faith in 
herself, in him and in God.  In humanity.  

In spite of that, here they were.  They were together.  
They were alive and that had to count for something.  She 
wanted to make him understand all of that.  That she loved 
him, that the faith she thought she had lost had only been 
hidden from her.    

"Mulder?"

She wanted to tell him everything.  So much had changed 
before they'd had time to adjust to their more intimate 
relationship.  It had seemed they had gone from friends to 
lovers to parents to fugitives in the span of moments and 
they had barely discussed any of it.  Now that they had the 
opportunity, she wasn't sure where to begin. 

"Tell me," he said softly.

She sighed, took in a deep breath, closing her eyes.  She 
released the breath slowly and after several seconds re-
opened her eyes.  

"I'm going to take a shower now," she said.

She pushed herself off of the bed, found her discarded 
pajamas and closed the bathroom door behind her.

They had all the time in the world to sort things out.  All 
ten years left of it.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Rural Wyoming
December 22, 2012
7:01 am


"No more driving," Rob said.  He sounded like he had 
swallowed gravel.  His eyelids opened only millimeters as 
he sat slumped in the middle back seat of Scully and 
Mulder's Tahoe.  William was curled up beside his father, 
awake, but staring absently out the window at nothing in 
particular.  Liam was zonked out on the far back seat 
bench, his bound hands resting on his stomach.  He looked 
like he was praying.  He probably was.  

"We have to keep moving," Mulder said.

"You don't even know where you're going, do you?" Rob 
asked.  He sounded like he didn't care what the answer was.

The truth was Mulder had no clue where they were going.  It 
had taken all of his energy just to convince Rob that they 
needed to leave the house--to leave behind everything the 
man knew, including his recently deceased wife's body, and 
follow two complete strangers on some absolutely insane 
quest.  Mulder had been prepared to punch the guy in the 
face, knock him out cold, and carry him to the truck if 
need be while he and Scully searched for William.  He'd had 
enough of wasting time and trying to explain what was in 
plain sight.

Fortunately for his father, William returned just as Mulder 
had reached the end of his patience.  He had stood in the 
doorway of his parents' bedroom, looking like the boy 
Mulder had dreamed about for the past few years.  He had 
Scully's eyes, and thankfully Mulder's hair, rather than 
his nose.  William's pants pockets had bulged at the sides, 
and his hands had clutched several sample packets of 
various drug tablets.  His clothing was soaked, his shoes 
were covered in wet clumps of mud and clay.  To Mulder, 
William seemed to be both younger and older than his almost 
twelve years.  

"She's dead, isn't she?"  He had asked his father.  Rob 
nodded tearfully and William dropped the sample packets, 
took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, shakily.  The Super 
Soldier's body seized mildly on the floor, but as William 
walked around the foot of his parent's bed towards his 
mother's side and away from the body, the tremors quieted, 
and the creature was still again.

Silence pervaded the room as the adults watched William 
take his mother's hand.  No doubt Rob wondered how he could 
possibly explain everything that had recently happened to 
his son.  Mulder wondered the same thing, though for 
different reasons.

Mulder glanced at Scully.  She was watching William and 
Mulder thought he could see every possible emotion on her 
face.  He knew that she wanted to run to him and wrap her 
arms tightly around him, yet at the same time Mulder 
thought she looked afraid to speak to him, much less touch 
him.  Surreal was the only applicable word Mulder could 
conjure to describe what it was like to witness Scully 
watching her lost baby boy grieve over his adoptive 
mother's body.  

William bent down to kiss his mother's cheek.  He didn't 
cry, which struck Mulder as odd behavior for a nearly 
twelve year-old boy.  When Mulder's own mother had 
committed suicide, the suddenness of it had sent him into a 
despair he hadn't known he was capable of.  He had been a 
fully-grown adult... and Scully had been there to comfort 
him.  Mulder thought William seemed resigned to his 
mother's fate, as though he had been aware it had happened 
before the rest of them had.  Mulder knew that there was 
much going on inside his son's mind that even his adoptive 
father didn't know, but Mulder wasn't sure exactly what it 
was.

*His* son.  

That sounded like a lie rattling around inside his brain.  
William was no more Mulder's son than Mulder was the son of 
CGB Spender.  Though William was essentially a stranger to 
him, a moment of acknowledgement had passed between the two 
of them when he had first arrived.  William didn't know who 
Mulder or Scully was, yet he hadn't seemed surprised to see 
them there.  He never even questioned who the two strangers 
in his parents' bedroom were.  If he knew anything about 
them, he kept it a secret.  

After allowing William and Rob some time alone with Susan, 
Mulder had helped Rob bury his wife in the back yard under 
an enormous oak tree.  Mulder, Scully and Liam watched from 
a distance as the family said their goodbyes.  Mulder 
wasn't entirely sure how Rob had suddenly come to accept 
what he and Scully had tried to show him through his 
bedroom window, but before he knew it William and Rob had 
each packed a bag, and were loading themselves into the 
truck, ready to follow Mulder and Scully wherever they 
decided to take them, which so far, was simply north.  
They'd be in Canada soon, but Mulder doubted they'd have 
trouble with the Border Police today, even if they were 
still fugitives from the Federal Government.

Now there was no more Federal Government, only the shadow 
government.

Since their trip had started, William hadn't said another 
word.  *He's listening,* Mulder thought.  It was an 
intuitive guess, not unlike those he used to have when he 
was an agent assigned to the X-Files, and he had no real 
explanation for it.  Mulder wondered just how much William 
already knew about them, or about himself.

Rob had nearly passed out the moment they started driving, 
in spite of Liam spending most of the first two hours on 
the road muttering his nonsensical religious rhetoric.  He 
emphatically wanted Mulder to drive them back to his camp, 
to meet the other members of his group, which Mulder 
suspected was more like a cult, and introduce them all to 
William.  Mulder asked Liam in which direction his camp was 
located.  Liam said south; Mulder drove north.  After about 
an hour of whiney protest, Liam had finally and mercifully 
fallen asleep, and the trip had gone on in silence.  

Mulder watched Scully through the corner of his eye as she 
snuck periodic glances back toward William.  Occasionally 
she would notice Mulder looking at her, and would quickly 
turn her gaze back to the road.  Inevitably, she would look 
back over her shoulder again.  The two had yet to say a 
single word to each other, and Mulder was both in awe of 
and alarmed by how Scully had dealt with the situation.  He 
wasn't sure what he had expected.  Most of his thoughts 
about William involved the three of them as an established 
family.  Very rarely, if at all, did he imagine the actual 
moment they would reunite.  Still, he thought there would 
be some display of emotion.  Ten years after giving William 
up for adoption and her reunion with him had thus far been 
somewhat anticlimactic, if you didn't count the minor 
detail that the world was going through a massive alien 
invasion and human beings were on the verge of 
extermination.  It didn't help that Mulder and Scully had 
yet to tell their son or his father who they were, or who 
William was himself.  

Mulder glanced down at the gas tank gauge.  Only an eighth 
of a tank remained.  It was still early morning and dark.  
He could see the large red and white star of a Texaco 
station sitting at the end of the highway off ramp.  It 
appeared the electric grid was still going strong either 
due to computer automation or the station simply had its 
own hydrogen power cell.  It was probably not even 
connected to the main network.  

Out of habit, Mulder flipped on his turn signal, and gently 
turned toward the familiar symbol, which someday might be a 
historical footnote.  The answer to a trivia question, 
remembered as the symbol for the Lone Star State of Texas 
in what was once called the United States of America, if 
any humans survived long enough to remember.

The group hadn't seen a living soul on the highway thus far 
the entire drive.  Unlike the trip he and Scully had taken 
from Minnesota with only an occasional stalled car along 
the side of the road, now there were hundreds of cars 
littered along the shoulder and in the ditches.  Many sat 
right in the middle of the interstate itself.  Sometimes 
the vehicles would be empty, their drivers panic-stricken 
and delirious would have wandered off to die away from the 
road.  Too often, the driver would still be slumped over 
the steering wheel.  A single day had passed since Mulder 
and Scully had been stopped at a roadblock on the 
interstate in South Dakota, yet since that time, the world 
seemed to have disappeared.  

The Plague had arrived with such speed that there had been 
no mass panic, no roaming hoards of looters that they'd 
seen, and only relatively few bodies were left lying in 
public places.  It felt to Mulder as if the time of the 
Rapture had arrived.  As if God had suddenly, without 
warning, called the faithful up to heaven, and left the 
sinners and non-believers on earth to fight over the 
remains.  It was more of a thought that Scully might have, 
but here he was.

Only the scattered and decaying bodies brought reality back 
to him.  The Plague had not been brought by God, but it 
*had* been helped along by men.

Mulder pulled into an empty stall at the Texaco, and killed 
the engine.  He sat in his seat for a moment, with his 
hands frozen on the steering wheel as a thought hit him 
hard.  What if they were the last humans left alive on the 
planet?  What then?  

Six billion people had been sent to oblivion, and he hadn't 
been able to stop it.  

Mulder exhaled deeply, and squeezed his eyes closed.

"It's not your fault," a shy voice from the back of the 
truck said.  

Mulder twisted around in his seat to find the voice's 
source.  William was sitting up straight in the seat.  His 
big blue eyes were calm and thoughtful.  "Did you say 
something, William?"  

William shook his head, and lowered his lashes.

Mulder looked at William another moment, hoping he would 
change his mind and speak again.  Say anything, but when he 
didn't, Mulder pulled the latch on the Tahoe's door, and 
slid outside.

The air was still chilly, but it had warmed up considerably 
since the previous day.  The dampness had evaporated, and 
Mulder could no longer see his breath in front of him.  He 
walked around to the side of the truck, popped the gas cap, 
flipped the switch to on and stuck the pump into the tank's 
hole.  

He pulled back the lever and got nothing.  He gave the 
lever a few more quick squeezes.  It was dead.

The others had begun slowly vacating the truck to stretch 
their legs, get the blood flowing.  To nobody in 
particular, Mulder said, "There's no power."

"All the lights are on," Scully said.

"Must be on two separate generators," Mulder said.  "I 
think we'll have to siphon it."


^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Rural Wyoming
December 22, 2012
8:17 am


Mulder, Rob and a recently untied Liam managed to find some 
tools to open the deep wells that contained most of the 
fuel, and after a little difficulty finding a serviceable 
hose, they had filled the Tahoe's tank to the brim.  While 
the men were busy with the gas, Scully used the time to 
scavenge the station's convenience store for anything still 
edible.  The outside sign must have been the only thing 
attached to the power generator because everything inside 
the store was either spoiled or filled with so many 
preservatives that it would probably outlast all of them.  
She did her best to avoid items that would require a lot of 
effort to prepare and instead grabbed things like beef 
jerky, bottled water and peanut butter.  Though, not even 
Scully could resist a glazed doughnut or two - or a dozen.  
They had to have *something* for breakfast.

Once her arms were full and not even another package of 
Ding Dongs would fit within them, Scully decided to head 
back to the truck and come back for another load.  Behind 
her, a box of something fell off of a shelf, startling her 
in the quiet shop.  She turned around suddenly and found 
William standing in the middle of the pasta isle studying 
her.  She shook the frightened look off of her face and 
forced a smile.

"Hello, William.  Do you want to help me?"

William only shrugged, but didn't say no.  Scully hesitated 
a moment, wondering if she should say more, wanting to say 
more.  Instead, she walked past him leaving William to make 
up his own mind.  

Once outside, she unloaded the various cellophane wrapped 
packages, putting them on the floor of the truck without 
her usual consideration for neatness.  Scully turned to go 
back inside for round two, and sighed inwardly when she 
didn't see William behind her.  She had been sure he would 
come.  It had been a feeling, mother's intuition.  She 
furrowed her brow at the thought.  She had not been a 
mother for more than a decade, and she hadn't had much time 
for honing her intuitive skills when she had been a mother 
-- William's mother.

A loud crash coming from inside the store brought her out 
of what had become her daily moment of self-flagellation.  
It sounded like an entire shelf full of canned goods had 
tipped over, spilling its contents onto the floor.  

Then there was a yell for help.

"William?"  Scully called out.  The balls of her feet dug 
into the ground like a runner in a starting block trying to 
gain leverage as she started for the main doors to the 
convenience store.  She pushed off quickly, but after a few 
steps she stopped, spun back around to the truck, and 
opened the passenger door.  She flipped open the glove 
compartment, and pulled out her semi-automatic handgun.  
Scully quickly checked the clip -- it was loaded -- and ran 
back toward William.

Instinct like adrenaline coursed through her veins, driving 
her actions more than her brain.  Her ancient training took 
over, and once again she became Special Agent Dana Scully. 
With both hands on her firearm, Scully used her left 
shoulder to push the door to the store open.  As soon as 
she was inside, she saw a twenty-something year old man 
covered in lesions, skin peeling off in some areas on his 
arms and face, standing behind William.  His clothes were 
dirty and torn, like he had not washed them in weeks, and 
his beard, much more than a few days growth, was shaggy and 
wild-looking.  Scully noticed that on the back of his right 
hand, near the wrist, was a tattoo, though she couldn't 
tell exactly what it depicted.  Part of the skin on that 
hand was falling away, reminding Scully of a molting 
reptile, more specifically a snake, which seemed a perfect 
adjective to describe him. 

The Snake Man had William in a headlock with the right arm, 
and he held a metallic object in his left hand.  William 
was jabbing Snake Man in the stomach with his elbows, and 
generally putting up a good fight.  Snake Man looked like 
his best days were behind him, but the reduction in oxygen 
was starting to show on William's face.  The rate of 
frequency and the force of his blows had slowed down.  

"Let him go!"  Scully shouted, raising her hands, and 
training her Glock directly on the man, carefully aiming 
high to avoid William.

"No!  No!  Stay back!"  Snake Man shouted back at her, 
simultaneously pulling William backward a step.  "Can't you 
hear it?"

"I want you to let him go, or I will kill you."  Scully 
said.  For once, she did not worry about proper procedure 
or pretense.  She had no intention of taking this man to 
jail.  He would either let William go or he would die.  
Simple as that.  "William, are you okay, sweetie?"

William nodded, but his eyelids drooped a bit.  He tried to 
cough, but it came out sounding like he was gagging.  
Scully focused her attention back on Snake Man, who was 
still muttering something. "What did you say?" Scully 
asked, finally hearing what Snake Man had said.

"Can you hear them?  They want him.  He's one of them.  I 
have to stop him.  Or it's sayonara for us all," Snake Man 
said, nearly cackling with crazy laughter.

Snake Man raised his left arm a little, and Scully heard a 
vaguely familiar sound, like the noise a tire makes when 
you check the pressure.  Finally, Scully could clearly see 
the object in the man's hand.  It was silver, and at first 
glance looked like an ordinary pen, but this item was used 
for killing, not writing.  The closest resemblance to 
anything ordinary was an ice pick... and Scully had seen it 
before.

"Scully, we're all ready to--" Scully heard Mulder say as 
he pushed open the door with Rob following closely behind 
him.  She caught Mulder's eyes as they quickly appraised 
the scene.  "Stay back!"  He shouted, placing a hand on 
Rob's chest and pushing him back through the door to the 
walkway outside.  

The next few seconds played like a slow-motion action 
sequence in some cheesy movie from the 1970's.  Snake Man 
seized the opportunity, using the distraction Mulder's 
arrival had caused, and pushed William to the floor, face 
first, so that the boy was lying on his belly.  He 
straddled William, like he was tying a hog, or maybe an 
alligator, and then he raised the hand with the ice pick 
high up over his own head pointed at the back of William's 
neck.  

"Quetecoatl must not return," Snake Man muttered, and 
Scully whipped her head around to see Snake Man move the 
lethal weapon downward.  Before she was consciously aware 
of it, the index finger on her right hand had pulled the 
trigger on her gun twice.  

Usually a gun's report was thunderous, but this time 
everything was completely silent.  Even the beating of her 
own heart seemed to stop.  Scully watched, fascinated as 
the first bullet traveled slowly, cutting its way through 
the air like a torpedo through the sea, until it hit its 
mark just below the collarbone on Snake Man's left 
shoulder.  It seemed like minutes after the first that the 
second bullet pushed through his chest into his left 
pectoral muscle.  Scully could have sworn she heard the 
man's body inhale the lead, with a gentle slurp followed by 
a dull thud as the bullet struck bone and lodged itself 
against a rib.

And then time came rushing back to her.

Mulder pushed past her, and knelt on the floor next to 
Snake Man.  Mulder took the ice pick out of Snake Man's 
hand, threw it a few feet to the side, and then grabbed the 
lapels of the man's torn collar.  Snake Man's eyes 
fluttered frantically, as he tried to gulp as much oxygen 
as he could get.  In a moment that was not quite d‚j… vu, 
but close enough, she heard Mulder ask "Who sent you?"  It 
was like watching a moment from her past, of another time 
when William's life had been threatened and she had shot to 
kill the man responsible. 

"William?" She heard herself ask, then lowered the gun, and 
moved closer to the spot on the floor where William was 
still lying on his belly.  She knelt next to him, and 
touched his back, wanting to soothe him.  As soon as her 
fingertips brushed against his clothes, William pushed 
himself up off of the floor and ran out of the store into 
his father's arms.  Rob Van de Kamp's arms.

Scully twisted around into a sitting position, dropped the 
gun on the cool, grungy floor, and exhaled as she watched 
William find comfort in the only family he knew.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Rural Wyoming
December 22, 2012
8:32 am


William watched them through the glass doors to the 
convenience store as he sat on one of the raised concrete 
medians supporting the gas pumps.  His dad sat nearby, 
wanting to give William the space he knew he wanted, but 
unable to keep from glancing up every few seconds to make 
sure William was still there.  William could sense his 
dad's confusion.  He couldn't blame him.  His dad hadn't 
been dreaming events that were coming true.  Not even his 
father's worst nightmares could have conjured what was 
happening around them.  William smiled weakly at the man 
who had taught him to throw a baseball and sink a free 
throw.  They both had been shaken badly by what had 
happened inside the store, not just by the man who had 
tried to kill William, but by the actions taken by their 
new traveling companions.  William had never seen that kind 
of violence aside from on television or at the movies.  His 
dad seemed more shaken by their actions, though William had 
been bothered more by what had not been said aloud.    

William looked through the glass doors into the store.  
Mulder and Doctor Scully, though she had introduced herself 
to him as Dana, were still hovering over the man who had 
tried to kill him.  Mulder shouted at the man, waving his 
hands wildly back and forth as he spoke.  From where he 
sat, William could not tell whether the man's eyes were 
open, but William knew he was still alive, if only barely.  
Dana sat on the floor cross-legged and kept glancing 
between the wounded man, who she had called Snake Man, and 
her gun on the floor.  She looked either dazed, or like she 
was trying not to lose her control and shoot the man again.  
Even with his abilities, William was not sure which it was.

"Strange, isn't it?"

William and his dad both turned their heads to the left 
toward the sound of Liam's voice.  They had all but 
forgotten about him in all of the excitement.  William felt 
his dad wondering why Liam hadn't simply run away.  William 
knew the answer to that simple question.  Liam would never 
willingly leave his side.  After all, William was the Great 
Unifier, though Liam had yet to call him that to his face.

"What?"  His dad asked Liam.  

"That such a gifted physician is also such a lethal shot," 
Liam said.  He spoke in his usual soft tone and flowery 
language.  William thought he sounded like he was reading 
from a movie script.  A very bad script.  

"She used to be a police officer," William said, turning 
back to look at Dana.  She looked up and met his gaze.  As 
Mulder continued to berate the dying man, Dana pushed 
herself off of the floor, picked up her gun and turned away 
from the front doors through which William watched her.  

"Will?  Did she tell you that?" his dad asked with a hint 
of condescension.

William shook his head, and turned to look at his father.  

"Then how do you know?"  His dad asked.

William shrugged.  "She wasn't really a police officer, but 
something like it.  I'm not sure.  Ask her if you don't 
believe me."  

"How much do you know about these two?"  Liam asked, 
directing the question to his dad, not to William.  "They 
come from nowhere, inject you with a strange liquid and ask 
you to follow them across the country."

"Sounds a lot like you," His dad said, not looking at Liam.

"But I have never been violent.  Mr. Van de Kamp, if you 
come with me, I will promise to protect your son by 
pledging my life to keep him from all enemies that would 
try to bring him harm.  There is gas in the truck.  Mulder 
left the keys in the ignition.  I know the way."

"She saved my life.  She tried to help Susan.  She shot 
that man to protect Will," His dad said, sounding like he 
was making a pros versus cons list to convince himself.

"But her weapon makes you uneasy, does it not?  These two 
do not understand peace like you and I.  Their hearts are 
filled with struggle and their minds of war.  I know a 
place where men like that man who she has probably killed 
cannot find you or your son.  A place where the Plague that 
killed your wife does not dare tread.  A place where the 
violence of this world cannot reach you.  A place where 
your son will be treated like royalty."

Rob crinkled his brow, and turned toward Liam.  "You sound 
like a lunatic.  Who are you?"

"I was sent to find William to protect him.  He is very 
special to the world."

"I don't think there is any world left," his father said.

The adults outside continued to talk.  To William their 
voices became background noise, a fuzzy signal inside his 
head.  He narrowed his eyes, and strained his ears to 
listen in on the conversation between the adults inside the 
store.  Though, why he did this he couldn't say.  He could 
no more use his ears to hear them speak than he could use 
his arms to fly. 

Dana moved near Mulder and kneeled on the floor.  She 
placed her hands on Mulder's shoulder, trying to calm him 
down.  Mulder's fists were still wrapped tightly around 
Snake Man's clothes as he continued to shake the man.  
Though her back was to him, William heard Dana's words in 
his mind as she spoke to Mulder.  
	
"Mulder, he's dead," she said coolly.  Mulder made no 
indication that he heard her, so she grabbed his hands and 
tugged them away.  She spoke again more forcefully.  
"Mulder, stop!"

He gave Snake Man one more defiant shove and then released 
him.  Mulder sat back on the floor cross-legged, a foot or 
so away from Snake Man's body.

"Still felt good," Mulder said with more than a little 
frustration.

Dana took a deep breath and exhaled quickly.  "Do you think 
he was crazy, or do you think he actually knows who William 
is?"

"Both," Mulder said.

"How?"  Dana asked.  She looked around the store, focusing 
on nothing in particular.  "How could he know we'd even be 
here?  At this moment?"

Mulder shrugged.  "Luck... fate... with help?  What I *do* know 
is that man called William by the same name that Liam used.  
Maybe it's just me, but I don't think that Quetzalcoatl is 
a common nickname for twelve year olds these days."  Mulder 
scratched his head and had a brief look of vacancy in his 
eyes.  "Jesus!  William!  Is he okay?"  Mulder asked, 
pushing himself off of the floor.

Outside, an eavesdropping Willam ducked his head guiltily 
upon hearing his name.  He felt like a puppy who'd been 
caught eating the garbage.  When he realized the adults did 
not know he was listening, William straightened up and 
smirked at himself.  He looked around to see if anybody 
noticed.  His father was still bickering with Liam, and had 
almost completely turned his back to his son.  Satisfied 
nobody knew what he was doing, he turned back to listen 
again on Mulder and Dana.  Though, Mulder only called her 
Scully, which was strange to William because she introduced 
herself to William as Dana Scully, meaning Mulder called 
her by her last name.  William had yet to figure out what 
Mulder's first name was.  Grown-ups could be very odd.

"He's outside with Rob.  He was shaken up quite a bit, and 
I should probably check him out, but I think he'll be fine.  
He seems to have his father's knack for finding danger and 
escaping death," Dana said.  William got the feeling that 
she was not speaking about Rob Van de Kamp.  He couldn't 
pinpoint exactly why he felt the way he did, but he had 
begun to believe that Mulder and Dana knew more about him 
than his father ever could.  Mulder was the man - or one of 
the men - he'd been dreaming about.  That he had been sure 
about since he first saw him in his parent's bedroom, 
before he had actually seen Mulder in person.  What he 
hadn't quite been able to figure out was which dream he 
knew Mulder from.  

"Hey Scully, take a look at this," Mulder said, snapping 
William out of his own thoughts.  Mulder knelt back down 
and peered at Snake Man's hand.   "He's got a tattoo."

"Yeah, I saw it when he had William.  Briefly.  His skin is 
peeling off though," Dana said.

"Kind of looks like a molting snake, doesn't it?  But check 
out the tattoo.  I've seen it before."  Mulder hesitated, 
but he touched Snake Man's hand.  Dana quickly reached out 
to hold him back.

"Mulder, the lesions," she said.  Once the serum had taken 
effect, William's dad's own lesions had begun to fade, but 
Snake Man was riddled with them.

"It's okay.  I think if we were going to catch it, we would 
have already."  Mulder touched the flap of skin on Snake 
Man's hand and placed it back to its original spot, 
grimacing the whole time.  The image of the tattoo became 
clearer and Dana could finally make out what it was.

As Dana looked closer, so did William, until what she was 
seeing was as clear as a photograph in his mind.  He had 
never gone this deeply inside a person's thoughts before.  
He felt a twinge of guilt, but not enough to close the 
virtual door linking them together.  He wanted to know why 
the Snake Man had tried to kill him.  He wanted to know how 
he had gone from being an average sixth grader who was 
excited about the arrival of Christmas vacation one week 
ago to being the most popular kid on the block, or the 
planet.  Maybe even the universe.

A picture formed in his brain.  The tattoo was one color, a 
soft reddish-brown.  The image looked like it had been 
scratched onto the skin the way you could draw a shape into 
concrete with a hard rock.  A line zigzagged across the 
back of Snake Man's hand, and at one end was a triangle 
with lines radiating from it like the sun.  It was the 
image of a serpent and it looked like hieroglyphics William 
had once seen in a text book in school.  He could not 
remember which class, however.

"Scully, does this look at all familiar to you?"  Mulder 
asked.  Dana shook her head.  

"Guess calling him snake man was right, though," she said.

"It looks familiar to me," Mulder said.

"Will?"  He heard his name spoken aloud.  It came from 
without, not within his mind.  When William didn't respond, 
he heard the question repeated more forcefully, and then he 
realized his father's hand was on his shoulder.

William looked up, breaking away from the conversation 
inside the store, much to his disappointment.

"What are you doing?"  His father asked with a mixture of 
concern and curiosity.

"I was just-" William started to say.

"Where the hell is he?"  Mulder interrupted as he threw 
open the door to the store and barreled outside.  Dana 
followed closely behind him.  Mulder looked quickly at 
William, then to his father, and then he scanned the area 
nearby, finally settling on Liam.  "Hold out your right 
hand," Mulder demanded, holding out his own.  Liam mimicked 
Mulder's position and held out both hands, palms facing up.

"Turn them over," Mulder said.

Liam obeyed, though he was not afraid.  To William, he 
seemed amused.  This time using his own eyes, William saw 
what Mulder saw.

Liam and the Snake Man had the exact same tattoo.


^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
PART THREE

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Kayenta Valley
December 22, 2012
2:30 p.m. 

The sun was high overhead; light poured down like rain, 
unhindered by clouds or any other flying object, for the 
first time in what felt like weeks.  Monica arched back her 
head, lifted up her face and closed her eyes, basking in 
the blissful warmth.  It was only sixty degrees, but 
compared to the last several days of near constant downpour 
it felt like a sauna, and it was wonderful.  

"What are you smiling about?"  John asked.  

She hadn't realized she was smiling.

John walked alongside her and she cocked her head to see 
him.  The five of them had ditched Monica's car a mile or 
so back when the little Honda couldn't make it over the 
ancient, rocky terrain.  They'd been forced to walk the 
remaining two miles through the desert to Aiden's camp.  
John's mood had seemed to improve with the weather just 
like hers had.  His question seemed born more from 
confusion or curiosity than from irritation.

"I'm smiling because I feel good," she said, stretching her 
arms out wide and taking in a big breath through her nose.  
"We're alive and it's a beautiful day."

He lifted his eyebrows.  "It's still early," he said, but 
his smile remained.

All five of them walked together in something of a trickle 
rather than a tight group.  Aiden led the way, but was 
closely followed by Gibson and Joy, with Monica and John 
lagging several steps behind.  Joy hadn't spoken much yet 
but to Monica it looked as if her fear of Aiden had melted 
away.  Joy seemed to think of both of the older boys as her 
big brothers and they seemed to feel the same about her.  
They had grown protective of each other.  The three of them 
shared a common bond that Monica didn't fully understand, 
but was glad to see nevertheless.

Monica and John walked side by side in silence for a few 
minutes, but Monica noticed John occasionally glancing her 
way, turning his head slightly towards her, then away to 
look at his feet or an obscure point in the distance.

"What's on your mind, John?" she asked, knowing if she 
didn't ask now he might never find his words.

He gave her a wary smile.  "Where do I begin?" he asked.  
He remained quiet for a long enough period of time that 
Monica assumed he would never continue.  She had resigned 
herself to finish the walk in silence when he finally said, 
"I'm not a mind reader and I know that I sometimes 
frustrate you and Gibson --"	

"--John," she interrupted.

"No, wait," he said.  "Even though I'm stubborn, and I can 
be a fool sometimes, I am trying, Monica."

"I know you are," she said, meaning it.

"I just want you to know that I trust you.  I always have.  
So, if you say we can trust this guy..." he said, waving a 
hand towards Aiden, "... I'll buy into it.  I just need to 
know one thing."

"Okay," she said, drawing the word out, worried by what he 
might ask.  They had left so much unresolved the last time 
they'd spoken.  What he'd been thinking about over the last 
several years both intrigued and frightened her a little.

"Why didn't you ever call me?" he asked.  "I would have 
helped you."

She looked at him through narrowed eyes, skeptical.  "You 
would have?"

"Of course," he said, mimicking her face.  He let out a 
breath that was part laugh, part sigh.  He seemed hurt that 
she would doubt his sincerity.  "I thought you trusted me."

Monica stopped walking and turned to face him, holding her 
hand to his chest, stopping him.  "John, I trust you.  I 
know you would have *wanted* to help me, but --"

"But what?" he asked.  "You didn't want it?"

Monica shook her head.  "You didn't want it," she said, 
lowering her head.  "Frankly, I was tired of trying to 
convince you the things you had seen with your own eyes 
were real."  She winced as she saw the hurt her words 
caused cross over his face.

"But, I --" he started to say.

She looked back up at him.  "I cared about you, John--I 
still care about you--but it was just easier for us to be 
apart, as partners and as friends.  I couldn't ask you to 
do something you couldn't understand, especially when I 
knew it could get us both killed."  She had wanted to tell 
him that for a long time, but never thought she would.  It 
just seemed to spill out of her.

His brow creased, his frustration growing.  "Then why did 
you come here to ask for my help now?"

"I didn't," she said coolly.  

"Right.  You were looking for him," he said, jerking his 
thumb towards Gibson.  The Three Amigos had slowed down 
considerably; no doubt they could hear every word of her 
conversation with John.

"John, I don't want to hurt you.  I'm glad you're here.  I 
didn't realize how much I needed you until I saw you," she 
said.  She reached out to touch his arm, but John avoided 
her eyes and started walking again, kicking up dust as he 
passed her.  It landed on Monica's skin, sticking to her 
sweat-dampened arms.

Monica blew out a long breath through her lips and stamped 
her foot down, creating another cloud of reddish dust.  She 
stood with her hands on her hips and watched him walk away 
to catch up with the others who had stopped to stand near 
the edge of a cliff.  They stood side by side looking down 
at something Monica could not see.

Gibson turned around towards her and waved, signaling for 
her to hurry up.  Monica waved back in acknowledgement and 
jogged a few hundred feet to where they all stood.

"What is it?" she asked, breathing hard.  She was 
definitely going to have to start running again.

"We're here," Aiden said with a huge smile on his face, 
uncharacteristic for the usually stoic man.  Monica looked 
down into a chasm.  She couldn't see much detail because of 
the distance, but it looked like several tents were 
scattered throughout the flat floor of a relatively narrow 
canyon carved long ago by a now dried up raging river.  
Sheer rock cliffs, bathed in the dark red color of oxidized 
iron, jutted a hundred feet straight up on either side, 
including the side she stood on.  

"How do we get down?" John asked.

Aiden moved away from them to the right.  "Follow me and 
don't look down."

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Rural Wyoming
December 22, 2012
9:37 am

"Who is he?" Mulder demanded.  His right arm swung back 
wildly with his index finger pointing straight towards the 
convenience store doors.  Inside was the body of the man 
Scully had called Snake Man.  Mulder's eyes stayed focused 
on Liam.  "What's his name?"

Liam stood less than a foot from Mulder, but he said 
nothing.

"Answer me!" Mulder said.

"I don't know that man," Liam said finally.  He didn't seem 
intimidated by Mulder's anger, which pissed Mulder off even 
more.  He was giving Liam his best bad cop routine and the 
man was not flinching.  Unfortunately for Liam, Mulder was 
no longer a law enforcement officer, bound by rules of 
conduct and ethics and kept in check by surveillance 
cameras.  Though Mulder had rarely found himself on the 
verge of striking a suspect he was interviewing when he'd 
been an agent, he felt that urge crawling up his spine now.  
There was nobody around to tell Mulder he couldn't beat the 
hell out of Liam if he wanted to, except for Scully.

"You're lying," Mulder said, leaning into Liam's space.  
Mulder stood a good six inches above the younger Liam, who 
was lean, though well muscled.  The expression on Liam's 
face did not change, but he did take a slight step 
backwards.  "I don't think you want to piss me off.  I've 
had a very bad decade." 

Rob, who'd been watching with a somewhat dumbstruck 
expression on his face, moved closer to the pair of men, 
leaning forward to look closer at Liam's hand, inspecting 
the strange pictures imbedded in the skin.  "This guy has 
the same tattoo as the man who tried to kill Will?"  Rob 
asked Mulder.

"Yeah, and I'm betting that he knows a hell of a lot more 
about what that guy in there wanted than he's letting on," 
Mulder said.  

Mulder looked at Rob.  Over Rob's shoulder behind him, 
Mulder caught a glimpse of William, who had stayed back, 
but was watching the four adults thoughtfully.  *You know 
more than all of us, don't you?* Mulder thought and William 
looked down at his shoes, confirming Mulder's suspicions.  
He'd been having a strange sensation which was part 
intuition and part de jevu about William since they'd met.  
What Mulder couldn't quite figure out was whether William 
felt the same way.  Now at least Mulder had an idea.  

Mulder forced his attention back to Liam.  "I wouldn't be 
surprised if he led that guy directly to us," he said.

Rob looked up and took an uncertain step backwards.  "He 
told me he wanted to take my son to a place where he'd be 
protected, treated like royalty," Rob said, shaking his 
head.  A moment later, his eyebrows crinkled and his eyes 
locked on Liam.  Mulder could physically see Rob Van de 
Kamp's mood shift from confusion to anger.  His eyes 
sharpened and narrowed, his muscles tensed.  When Rob spoke 
again there was no hint of the dazed man Mulder and Scully 
had been leading around for the past day.  Mulder was glad 
to see some fire inside William's adoptive father.  "You 
wanted me to take Will to your group, your cult, so you 
could kill him, didn't you?  You were trying to trick me 
into following you.  Who the hell are you?"  Rob grabbed 
Liam's shirt and stood eye to eye with the man.  "Tell me 
now!"

Scully stepped forward and stood in front of Mulder next to 
Rob.  She had been silent since coming outside of the 
convenience store.  She still held her weapon in her right 
hand, but it rested against her leg pointing to the ground 
at her side.  Still in Rob's grasp, Liam glanced quickly 
downward, then back up to Mulder, finally settling his eyes 
on Scully.  "Are you going to shoot me too, Ms. Scully?  We 
all know you're quite capable of killing.  If I were you, 
Mr. Van de Kamp, I'd be more afraid of these two than of 
me."

Mulder licked his lips and nodded, smiling a little at 
Liam's attempt at mind games.  Rob's eyes flickered 
downward, his gaze settling on Scully's gun while 
continuing to hold onto Liam.  From the sound of it, Liam 
was at least half decent in the arts of manipulation.

"Nobody's shooting anyone," Scully said calmly, "but we are 
going to talk."  She put her hand on Rob's shoulder, 
sliding it down to the crook in his elbow and gently 
tugging.  "This is getting us no where.  We can't stay here 
forever."  

Rob didn't move at first.  His knuckles were turning white 
and Mulder thought Rob might still throw a punch at Liam.  
Mulder hoped he would.

"Mr. Van de Kamp?  Sir, please," Scully said.  

Rob let out a long breath and released his grasp on Liam's 
shirt.  "Call me Rob," he said.

Scully smiled.  "Okay then.  Rob, we need to leave here, 
but before we do, Liam is going to answer our questions," 
she said, not looking at Liam at all.   "For starters, what 
he knows about that man in there."  Scully turned towards 
Liam, facing him squarely.

"I already told you I don't know him," Liam said, now 
sounding petulant.

Rob stepped forward once more, fingers balled into fists.  
Scully again put her hand on his shoulder and he held back, 
but he looked like a tightly wound spring.

"But you know something about him, about that tattoo on his 
hand, the one on your hand," she said softly, keeping eye 
contact with Liam.  Mulder had seen her do this hundreds of 
times before.  Scully was making Liam believe the 
interrogation was over when in fact it had only just begun.  
She sounded more like a parent than a cop, in control with 
a hint of condescension.  Liam's brashness from a moment 
ago was falling away and despite Scully's lack of 
aggression, he seemed more afraid of her than he had of 
Mulder or Rob.  He was more the timid man they had first 
discovered tied to a chair in the Van de Kamp's bedroom the 
day before.  The timbre of Scully's voice and her manner 
was having an almost hypnotic effect on Liam.

Liam nodded.  "Yes, I know something," he said.

"What do you know, Liam"? Scully asked.

"He was one of us, but I didn't know him," Liam said, 
somewhat trance-like.

"One of you?"

"A member of my group... my family.  Only members have the 
marks," Liam said, rubbing his left hand absently over the 
tattoo on his right.

"Why would he want to harm William?  You said you wanted to 
protect him," Scully said.

"I do.  We do.  William means everything to us," Liam said.

"How do you know my son?" Rob interrupted loudly, stepping 
back into Liam's space.  Scully put her hand gently on his 
shoulder, calming him.  Rob cleared his throat, and again 
put his frustration in check.  

"Why would that man want to harm William?" Scully asked 
again.

Liam shook his head.  "I don't know," he said.  "It doesn't 
make sense."  

Liam continued to scratch his hand.  Mulder remembered how 
Snake Man's hand barely had any skin at all.  How he was a 
man, but was molting like a reptile.  Snake Man had been 
infected by the alien virus.  Then something occurred to 
Mulder, something he couldn't believe he hadn't considered 
before.  Liam appeared to be perfectly healthy.  

Mulder could account for his own health, as well as 
Scully's.  They had injected themselves with Mesabi Ferrum.  
Rob Van de Kamp had been injected as well, essentially 
proving to Mulder that the serum worked.  Rob had been on 
the brink of death, but minutes after receiving the stuff, 
he'd dramatically improved.  The only people that were so 
far uninfected were Liam and William. 

"Liam," Mulder said, looking to Scully, letting her know he 
had an idea, "how is it that you are healthy?  If that guy 
in there is a member of your group, how was he infected and 
you're not?"

"Nobody in our group is infected," Liam said with 
certainty.

"How do you know?  You must have left the camp before the 
rain started," Scully said.

"Because God directed us to a safe haven.  He said that we 
would survive the coming Plague so that the Serpent King 
could rule over only those who are true believers," he 
said.

"This guy is absolutely nuts," Rob said.  "I think we 
should just leave him and get out of here."

"Scully, can I talk to you for a minute?"  Mulder asked, 
already leading her out of earshot of the others, leaving 
Rob and Liam to puff out their chests alone.

"Mulder, Rob's right.  That man is crazy," Scully said, 
half whispering.

"I think we should go to his camp after all," Mulder said, 
quietly, so that only she could hear.  

"Maybe he's not the only one who's crazy," she said.  
"Aren't you the one who wanted to go north?"

"Scully, it's just a hunch, but I think there's something 
at that camp that we need to find."

"What?"

Mulder shook his head and looked behind Scully to Liam, 
whose eyes darted nervously between Rob and Mulder.  "I'm 
not sure, but I think there's something about his camp that 
prevents infection.  He said the camp was in the south.  
What's in the south, Scully?  The Red Rocks.  Roswell.  The 
Painted Desert.  Iron."

"Mulder, he never said specifically where the camp was 
located," she said.

"No, but I'm willing to bet you one million dollars that 
it's somewhere in Anasazi Indian country," he said, putting 
his hands on his hips.  "Maybe near Chaco Canyon."

Scully smiled, "One million dollars?"

He shrugged, smiling with her, "I'm sure I could scrounge 
that up pretty easily these days.  Scully, remember when we 
were driving through the Iron Range in Minnesota?"

She nodded, "It was only two days ago, but it feels like a 
lifetime."

"Maybe the high concentration of iron in the geology slows 
down or kills the virus, just like your serum.  If that's 
true, then maybe that's the safest place for us to be.  At 
least for now," he said.

"That still doesn't explain why Liam's not infected," 
Scully said.  "He left the camp before the virus came."

"Maybe he built up immunity, vaccine by osmosis or 
something," he said, shrugging.

"Vaccine by osmosis?" she said, arching an eyebrow.  
"Mulder you can't actually believe that, can you?"

"Why not?  There have been studies on children who grow up 
drinking water high in fluoride.  The research shows they 
tend to have teeth more resilient to cavities than those 
who don't get extra fluoride.  Maybe this works the same 
way."

She let out a breath sounding somewhere between concession 
and skepticism.  "Okay, for the sake of argument, let's say 
you're right."

"Am I on Candid Camera?"  he asked, straight-faced but 
lightheartedly.  He looked around for the imaginary 
television crew.

Ignoring him, she continued, "That doesn't explain 
William."

Mulder sobered a little and turned his head, checking on 
the boy he had momentarily forgotten.  William sat with his 
face in his hands on the cement median under the gas pumps.  
Scully was right.  His theory didn't explain William.  
Wyoming had a relatively normal iron level.  Why William 
had not succumbed to the same infection the Van de Kamps 
had was a complete mystery.  So much had happened in the 
last day that Mulder had forgotten why they'd been in such 
a hurry to reach William in the first place.  They wanted 
to give him a chance to survive.  They'd wanted to inject 
him with Mesabi Ferrum.  

"You're right, it doesn't explain why he's not infected, 
but I still think we need to go to this camp of Liam's," 
Mulder said.

"One other thing, Mulder," she said.  "That man in there, 
who tried to kill William, he was infected.  If he was from 
Liam's camp, and your theory is correct, how could that be 
possible?"

"You have to trust me, Scully," he said.  He wouldn't blame 
her if she didn't.  He had lost count during their exile 
how many times he had said that to her and failed her.  
"Scully?"

She looked up at him, waiting.

"This fight isn't over.  I think it's just begun.  
Something tells me that he may be crazy, but Liam's cult 
buddies hold at least part of the key to finishing it," he 
said, locking her eyes on his.  

She blinked slowly.  Licking her lips, she said, "Okay 
then.  We better get moving."

Mulder smiled and turned back toward the other two men.
 
"And Mulder," she said.  He turned to her serious, almost 
grim face.  "You're showing your age.  Candid Camera has 
been gone a long, long time."  The corners of her mouth 
turned up until finally she revealed a full toothy grin.

He'd nearly forgotten, but god how he loved this woman.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Washington, DC
December 22, 2012
3:28 pm

Tom Davis watched as the second hand on his office wall 
clock ticked along at a frantic pace.  Time seemed to be 
speeding up, yet time was just as irrelevant as he was.  
The orders had been given and there was nothing anyone 
could do about it.  Phase Two was in full swing and soon 
enough the small pockets of survivors who were scattered 
all over North America -- and the world -- would think they 
had been the unlucky ones.  

As he sat in his comfortable office chair, triangular-
shaped spacecraft zipped through the skies, hunting down 
any Human Being not destroyed by the Plague.  Though Phase 
Three officially began today, it would take days or even 
weeks to completely finish the task of removing remnants of 
human life.   Sooner or later, the inferior race known as 
mankind would cease to exist and a noble race of beings 
would begin Colonization, finishing what they should have 
started several millennia ago.  

And this time they were here to stay.

Tom looked away from the clock and closed his eyes, letting 
his mind wander away from the reality that he had played 
such an integral role in creating.  Sometimes Tom felt as 
if his memories had been stolen from someone else, and that 
he had been split into thirds.  There was who he had been 
before, and who he was now and yet there was a third person 
that was a combination of the two.  

He remembered being a boy, family vacations with his family 
to his grandfather's farm in the Upper Peninsula of 
Michigan.  His father giving him tractor rides through the 
overgrown hay fields, long ago left to grow untamed in the 
absence of anyone willing to harvest the crops or let the 
cows out to pasture.  Tom's great-grandfather had started 
the farm shortly after emigrating from Scotland.  Only a 
generation later, after Tom's own grandfather had passed 
away and his father had become an engineer forsaking rural 
life, the farm was relegated merely to a place in his 
family's collective memory.  

Tom remembered the farm, the faint smell of dried and 
ancient rotted hay, the sound of the creek bubbling through 
the woods, the feel of the cool northern air in autumn.  It 
was as much a part of him as any memory in a boy's life.  
Yet, as real as the memories of his childhood were, they 
were also foreign.  The more time had passed, the less 
human he had become, the more the memories of his former 
life felt like stories he had read in a book written by 
someone else.  The images were there, but the people in 
them felt like characters to him, and he was just a 
spectator in his mind's theater.

The memories of the past twelve years, since his own 
abduction and transformation, were crisp and sharp.  Yet 
with each progress report he received and with each 
projection estimate he read, the more he found himself 
dwelling on the fuzzy memories of his childhood.  Although 
he had barely thought about his parents since his return, 
Tom's mind drifted to them now.  In their minds, he had 
died after going missing during a solo hike outside of 
Moab, Utah.  Tom had no memory of the event, and barely any 
memory of his time on the ship, but when he had returned 
and awakened he had felt reborn.  An overwhelming 
understanding of his new mission, his role in creation of 
the world to come, had replaced his petty human fears of 
failure and of the future.

He would finally be part of something bigger, something 
pre-destined.

Underneath his wall clock hung a large plasma television 
screen displaying a map of North America.  Littering the 
map were tiny red dots, mostly centered in the Southwestern 
United States, parts of Northern Minnesota and various 
other "red zones."   Every few seconds the map would blink 
and then there would be fewer dots on the screen.  
Literally in the blink of an eye, thousands of humans had 
been exterminated, and Tom wondered if his parents had been 
among them.  He wasn't sure which he would prefer; knowing 
they'd succumbed to the virus or knowing they'd been chased 
down like vermin, like rats on his family's old farm.

Tom's door swung open, interrupting his retrospection.  The 
door slammed against the wall it hinged on and bounced 
back, almost hitting the woman bursting through it into his 
office.  

"I've been looking all over for you," the woman said, 
nearly floating the ten feet or so to Tom's desk where he 
sat hunched over, hands cupping his face.

"Here I am, hiding," Tom said with little inflection in his 
voice.  "Must have been an exhaustive search for you, what 
with my name being on the door."

The woman, thin with long blonde hair, dressed in a black 
pinstriped pantsuit, put her hands on her hips.  "Are you 
drunk?"

Tom laughed, a deep, roaring sound rumbling up from his 
belly, "I don't think I can get drunk anymore," he said 
between breaths.  "Can you, Claire?

Claire shook her head.  Apparently she didn't find the 
humor within her own question the way Tom did, "No, I 
suppose I can't.  You just seem drunk."

He finally caught his breath, and sighed, drawn out and 
loud.  "What is it you need?"

"They want to know if you've finished the final tests on 
the anti-venom," she said.

"It's not anti-venom.  It's a vaccine and yes I have.  It 
should be ready," Tom said.

"Should be?  Tom, you know how important the ceremony is.  
Even if full colonization isn't possible yet, they want to 
officially begin today and they can't do that without your 
*vaccine*.  If the Gray leaders have a bad reaction, or God 
forbid, die because they weren't ready to be exposed to 
earth's iron, I don't think I need to explain to you what 
will happen."

"No, Claire, you don't," he said, his laughter giving way 
to irritation.  Of course he knew what would happen.  He 
had been reminded nearly every day what the repercussions 
of failure would be.  "The vaccine developed from the 
antibodies produced by The Twelve will protect all those 
who are intolerant to iron.  They will need regular 
boosters, but they will be safe."

"You're sure?"

"I'm sure.  I explained this in my last report," Tom said, 
standing up and walking over to the television screen now 
with fewer red dots than before.  He watched as several 
more blinked and then disappeared from the screen.  

"Your report also mentioned a setback," she said.  Tom 
could hear the smile in her voice, like she had been 
waiting to bring that up since she'd stormed into his 
office. 

Tom turned around to face her.

"Why don't you just say what's on your mind, Claire," he 
nearly spat.

And now he could see the smile on her usually stoic face.  
"All right, you know I never wanted you on this project.  
You're careless and it's obvious your heart isn't in it.  
You may be a brilliant scientist, but you got reckless and 
let one of The Twelve get kidnapped.  Not to mention the 
fact that she happened to be the one who had been injected 
with the magnetite serum.  I won't even get into why there 
was only one control subject in the first place," she 
rambled on, "but what makes it worse is that she is out 
there and every indication tells us that she is pure 
poison, if not to you and me, then definitely to the 
project.  This entire operation could be ruined and you 
didn't bother to make that explicitly clear to those who 
need to hear it."

"Oh, is that what's bothering you?" Tom said, sounding 
bored.  "Tell them it's ready.  Now get out."  Tom walked 
around his desk and sat down again.

Claire looked like she wanted to say more, like it was a 
struggle to hold her tongue and it probably was.  She had 
never been one to keep her opinion to herself, a fact he'd 
observed was true of her even in bed.  He also knew that 
she knew she had said too much already.  He was the one in 
charge here, at least for now, and she had better damn well 
get used to it.

Clamping her jaw shut, she spun around on her heels and 
flew out the door as fast as she had arrived.  When he 
could no longer hear her heels clicking down the empty 
hallway, he turned back to his wall clock.  Five minutes 
had passed and probably one hundred red dots had 
disappeared.

Tom Davis was certain of one thing.  It was not God who was 
responsible for it all.  He was.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Colorado Springs, Colorado
December 22, 2012
4:56 p.m.

He should have ditched them all hours ago.  He knew this.  
He felt it in his gut.  Nothing good would come from 
following this crazy man and his slightly less crazy, 
though somewhat scarier wife or girlfriend, whatever she 
was, to anywhere.  If it were not for Will, Rob would not 
care if anything good ever happened in this life again.  

Instead of taking Will and making a break for it, he was 
rummaging around in an enormous sporting goods store, arms 
loaded, with one eye on his son, who Rob had told not to 
leave his sight for the rest of his natural life.  They 
were gearing up for the rest of their trek south, to the 
camp where at least two men even crazier than Mulder, 
claimed was the safest place on earth, even protected by 
God Himself.

The Van de Kamps had tried to be good Christians.  They had 
attended the local Methodist church every Sunday, 
participated in church dinners and bible studies, attended 
a potluck fundraiser from time to time.  They generally 
considered themselves to be spiritually healthy and devoted 
followers, but as religious a man Rob Van de Kamp was, a 
stranger talking about taking his son to meet God was a 
person he wanted as far away from Will as possible.  Yet 
once again Rob found himself following the tall, dark 
haired man with the slightly too large nose and the petite 
lady with fiery red hair and eyes as blue as Will's with 
barely any question.  

Rob decided to name it Post Traumatic Stress and call it a 
day.

"Will?" Rob called.  His son had been meandering through 
various sections of the store, running his fingers over an 
item here and there, picking items up, but never holding on 
to them for long.  But now, Will had dipped out of view.  
Rob's heart rate spiked, suddenly making him feel like he'd 
just slammed ten cups of black coffee.  A moment later, 
Will popped up, poking his head out of a two man tent set 
up for display and Rob's blood pressure slowed down to 
normal.  

Rob bent over and dropped his looted goods on the floor in 
front of a rack full of hiker's backpacks.  He considered 
his choices for a moment, grabbed a medium sized pack, 
which was colored bright orange and had yellow trim.  He 
knelt down on one knee and stuffed the provisions into the 
pack.  Most of the items were packets of dried food, a 
change of clothes for himself and Will, some Swiss Army 
knives he had always had his eyes on but had been too 
practical to purchase, and other miscellaneous supplies 
that would help them survive in the desert wilderness.

Mulder and Dana stood close to each other several aisles 
away from him among hundreds of different types of water 
bottles of every shape and color and material.  The light 
from the nearly set sun shone in through the store's large 
skylight, bouncing off of the bottles, casting a colorful 
glow over Mulder and Dana.  Rob couldn't hear what they 
were saying, but he could see the tension in their faces.  
Dana shook her head as Mulder whispered something to her, 
then reached a hand out, and caressed her face.  Dana 
closed her eyes, brought her own fingers up to Mulder's 
hand, holding them there for a moment and pressing his 
knuckles to her closed lips.

They looked exhausted.

It was strange to think it, but with all that had happened 
in the past two days, Rob had not given much consideration 
to these two people.  He knew virtually nothing about 
either of them, yet they had convinced him to leave his 
wife, his home and follow them across the country with a 
man who claimed that Will was the Messiah, or something to 
that effect.  

He knew Dana was a doctor and according to Will had 
possibly been a cop, though Rob was not sure how Will knew 
that, since he'd said approximately five words to Dana 
since they'd met.  Rob had thought Will was afraid of her, 
especially after the incident with the man in the gas 
station, when Dana had killed him in front of Will.  Though 
the more Rob observed Will and Dana when they were 
together, the more he realized that they were both afraid 
of and curious about the other.  They looked at each other 
the way people do when they recognize a face, but can't 
quite place the name or remember where they met, like old 
acquaintances who had lost touch and grown apart.

Rob twisted his body around, catching sight of Will again, 
who was hopping in and out of a Kevlar canoe.  The canoe 
sat atop a blue carpet approximating a clear blue lake.  
Will looked up, made eye contact, and smiled wanly.  Rob 
returned the sentiment, smiling back.  Will broke his gaze 
away and continued with his private game.  

Still stuffing items into his half empty pack, Rob turned 
back to Mulder and Dana.  One summer during college, Rob 
had worked as a ranch hand.  One of his least favorite 
tasks had been helping the rancher put down sick or injured 
livestock.  The look on Mulder and Dana's faces right now 
reminded Rob of that summer.  He couldn't remember seeing 
two people ever looking quite so afraid, so sad, so 
frustrated and angry... so troubled.  Though, he would be 
willing to bet all the money in the world that they were 
probably saying the same thing about him.  

Dana glanced quickly towards Will.  Mulder touched her chin 
with one long finger and turned her face back, forcing her 
to make eye contact with him.  She smiled unconvincingly 
and then Mulder moved his face closer, briefly brushing his 
lips over hers.  The movement, so tender and filled with 
love, immediately reminded Rob of Susan and he had to look 
away from the two strangers who were now his only friends 
in the world.

Rob turned his head downward, placed the last two pouches 
of dried beef into the pack and zipped it up.

"I think we're almost ready," Mulder said, startling Rob 
slightly.  "Sorry."

Rob cleared his throat.  "No, it's okay.  I was just lost 
in thought," he said, standing up, looking around.  
"Where's Dana?" 

"She wanted to make sure she had all the medical supplies 
she needed," Mulder said, swinging his own backpack up to 
rest on one shoulder.  "Where's William?  And Liam, for 
that matter?"

"Will's over there, in the canoe," he said, nodding his 
head in the direction of the fake lake.  "I think Liam's 
bringing a load to the truck, or driving off with it.  Not 
entirely sure which I would prefer right now."

Mulder's cheeks twitched and he blew a breath out through 
his nose.  The two men stood there in uncomfortable silence 
for a moment.  Mulder's eyes shifted in the direction of 
Will, who was now paddling the air, possibly pushing 
himself through imagined choppy waters.

"Can I ask you something?" Rob said.  

Mulder seemed not to hear him at first, but keeping his 
eyes on Will, he said finally, "Sure," then turning back to 
look at Rob, "fire away."

"Who are you two?"  Rob asked, hoping he sounded curious 
and not angry.

"What do you mean?" Mulder asked, hesitatingly.  

"I mean, who are you?  Where did you come from?  How did 
you find us?  And how do you claim to know so much about 
what's happened?  You still believe this was some kind of 
alien invasion, don't you?"

"Oh, is that all?" Mulder asked with a crooked smile.  "I 
thought you wanted to know something personal like my 
favorite color or whether I prefer chocolate or vanilla.  
Really hard questions like that."  

Rob laughed.  It was the first time he had laughed in 
years, or so it felt.  

Mulder laughed too.

Still smiling Rob continued, "Seriously though.  You seem 
absolutely crazy yet completely sane at the same time."

"That's actually one of the nicer things anyone's ever said 
to me," Mulder said.  

Rob kept his eyes on Mulder, not letting him off the hook, 
but content to wait him out.

"Rob, we'll have plenty of time to tell you the whole story 
later.  What's most important is what you already know 
about us."

"What is that?"

"That we're on the same side you are," Mulder said.  "That 
we only want to protect you and William and ourselves and 
live to see another day."

"Will must have gotten it wrong," Rob said, smirking.

"How's that?"

"He said Dana used to be a cop, but I think it was you," 
Rob said, then added, "a cop or a shrink."

Mulder laughed at that.  "Actually, it's all of the above," 
he said.  Rob's brow crinkled, not understanding what 
Mulder meant.  Mulder shook his head.  "Scully and I were 
FBI Agents a long time ago.  We were partners.  We saw a 
lot of things during the time we worked together and since 
then.  That's why we know so much about what's happening."

"So, it was the government then?"

"Yes, but not the way you're thinking.  I meant what I 
said... this virus, this Plague, the thing that killed your 
wife and almost killed you," Mulder said, sobering his 
tone, "it came from above, but it wasn't brought by God or 
mankind."

"Little green men?" Rob asked, eyebrows arched.

"Gray," Mulder said.

Rob scrunched up his brow, shook his head.

"Come on, let's get out of here," Mulder said, putting a 
hand on Rob's shoulder, turning him around and leading him 
towards the canoe Will sat in.

"FBI, huh?" Rob said and Mulder nodded.  "I guess that 
explains why you call each other by your last names.  Of 
course, maybe Mulder is your first name.  Is it?" he asked, 
turning his head to look at Mulder, eyes smiling.

"Let's just say my first name is only the tip of the 
iceberg when it comes to quirks and interesting factoids in 
my family history," Mulder said as the two men walked 
shoulder to shoulder towards their son.


^^^^^^^

CHAPTER TWELVE

Colorado Springs, Colorado
December 22, 2012
4:37 p.m.

Scully darted around the store, trying to keep herself 
busy.  It was a large Galyan's sporting goods store, 
complete with a pool for testing out kayaks and a one 
hundred foot wall for rock climbing.  They'd driven all 
day.  It wasn't until evening, after they'd passed through 
Denver, that the group realized they had virtually no 
supplies for surviving in an isolated camp in the 
Southwest.  Although Liam claimed the place was quite 
comfortable and well-stocked, absolutely no hardship at 
all, Scully thought it would not be wise to take too many 
chances when trekking into the desert for who knew how 
long.  Mulder and Rob had agreed and Liam had sulked.  

Scully and Mulder had purposely kept their worldly 
possessions to the bare essentials during their time in 
hiding.  It was easier to get out of Dodge when there 
wasn't much to pack.  They did have a few items useful for 
camping--sleeping bags and canteens--but Scully wanted to 
make sure they had enough medical supplies.  And, she 
admitted to herself, a new change of clothes would feel 
like Heaven.  

Once they'd broken into the store through the glass-covered 
front door, Scully handed everyone their assignment list 
and set them off on a scavenger hunt.  Her list included 
medical supplies.  Mulder's list, God help her, included 
finding suitable clothing for the two of them.  Rob and 
William would find clothes for themselves, as well as try 
to find long-lasting and transportable food items.  Liam's 
task was to stay out of their way, but she didn't tell him 
that.  Scully suggested a good way for Liam to help would 
be to pack the truck and make sure everything fit neatly in 
the little space they had left after fitting four adults 
and one boy in a relatively small SUV.  

The store was well organized and neatly labeled.  It didn't 
take Scully long before she managed to find a medical kit 
that had been developed exclusively for hiking.  It had all 
the basic supplies, bandages, antiseptic spray and gauze, 
neatly stowed away in dedicated slots within a nylon bag 
that easily clipped into a larger backpack, which she 
stuffed full of extras.  Once she was satisfied the pack 
was filled with everything they might need, barring an 
extraordinarily severe accident, Scully zipped it up and 
turned in the direction of the front door.  

She walked past an aisle with freeze dried food and cooking 
hardware.  Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a 
slight movement and she stopped to inspect it.  William 
stood about halfway down the aisle.  He faced a row of 
shelving.  Each shelf was stocked with packets dehydrated 
food such as beef stew and powdered milk.  He was holding 
one silvery packet of something, but Scully couldn't tell 
what was inside it.  He held the dried food pouch out at 
arms length, appearing like he was reading the ingredients, 
but it seemed clear to Scully he was simply staring.

Without looking up at her, he spoke.  "It's ice cream."

She turned fully towards him, feeling somewhat guilty for 
spying on him and somewhat surprised that he had spoken to 
her at all.  She hadn't made a sound and she stood behind 
him out of his peripheral view, for one thing.  For 
another, since the incident at the gas station, William had 
been distinctly avoiding her.  Mulder had tried to tell her 
William was just suffering from shock and she reminded him 
that she was the medical doctor and not completely blind.

Scully put the medical pack down on the floor and stepped 
closer to William, carefully keeping out of his personal 
space.  She peered over his shoulder, reading the package 
which had a picture of an astronaut in a full space suit, 
helmet and sun visor drawn on it.  "The astronauts took 
that with them to the moon," she said.

William looked up at her.  He didn't smile, but his eyes 
gave away his curiosity.  "It doesn't melt?"

Scully smiled and held her hand out.  William handed her 
the silver pouch and she tore open the top, feeling 
strangely guilty for not paying first.  "It's not frozen.  
See?"  She pulled the Neapolitan ice cream out.  It was a 
powdery pink, chocolate and vanilla block vaguely 
resembling soap, but lighter and less dense.  Scully broke 
a piece off and handed it to William.  "It's freeze-dried."

"Who'd want to eat dehydrated ice cream?"  He asked, taking 
a small bite in spite of himself.  William wrinkled his 
nose, making a face suggesting his suspicions about the 
taste were correct.  He put the remaining chunk of ice 
cream on the shelf near his feet.

"I suppose it made the astronauts feel like they weren't so 
far from home after all," Scully said, more to herself.  
She returned the rest of the odd substance back into its 
wrapping and put it down next to William's discarded piece.  
She could remember once when she was a little girl and her 
father had brought her some astronaut ice cream.  She'd 
thought it tasted strange too, but enjoyed it.  Somehow, 
she hoped William might like it, as well.  At least, they 
could share that together.  Instead, they stood there 
quietly, awkwardly.  William continued picking up packets 
of dried food, reading the label and then putting them back 
on the shelf.  Scully tried to look like she was doing the 
same thing, but she couldn't help glancing at him every few 
seconds.  

She sighed.  There was so much she wanted to say to him, 
but she was not sure she ever would say it -- or could say 
it.  They were total strangers to each other and she was 
beginning to wonder if that would ever change.

She felt selfish.  William had just lost his mother and 
here she was worried that she would not get to tell her son 
who she was, as if knowing would bring back the woman who 
had raised him and cared for him when he was sick.  

She was not that woman.

"I've never been sick," William said.

"What?" Scully asked, turning to look at him, wondering if 
she had spoken out loud, and if so, how much had she said?  
"What did you say, sweetie?"  She tried to sound casual.  
She forced a smile, not wanting to frighten him.  

"I've never been sick.  Not ever," he said, looking 
straight into her eyes.  His eyes were blue, like hers, and 
both pairs were locked together now.  She didn't know him 
well enough, but if she had to guess, Scully would identify 
the look he gave her as challenging.  

"Not ever?"  She asked, avoiding the subtext of William's 
statement.  Instead, Scully chose to direct the 
conversation towards a lighter end.  "Not even a cold?"

"Not even a cold," he said.  "Sometimes it made me mad."

"Why is that?" she asked, genuinely curious.  If William 
had never been sick before, it would begin to answer 
questions she had about why he had not contracted the alien 
virus like the Van de Kamps.

"Because sometimes I wanted to stay home from school," he 
said, smiling.  It was the first time Scully had seen 
William smile since they'd met.  He had Mulder's smile.  
They stood there together, both with locked expressions of 
joy on their faces.  It was the first real connection they 
had made.  William's gaze drifted from her eyes downward.  
He cocked his head, spotting something.

"I think my mom used to wear a necklace like that," he 
said, pointing shyly at the small cross that glittered just 
below her collarbone.  It was warm inside the store even 
though the heat had stopped working when the electricity 
had gone out.  The sun, which poured in through the 
skylight, had created something like an oven effect and 
Scully had taken off her jacket while she tended to her 
list.  She lifted her hand to the necklace.  It was 
something she rarely thought about.  The cross had become 
so much a part of her that it almost felt like her skin.  

William continued to look at it.  He seemed lost in 
thought.  "Your mother had a necklace like mine?" Scully 
asked.  William didn't respond, but he shook his head 
slowly.  Scully wasn't sure he had heard her question and 
his silence unnerved her slightly.  She continued casually, 
"I got this from my mother for--"

"For your fifteenth birthday, or for Christmas.  One of the 
two, but I'm not sure which one," he said, still staring at 
the cross, speaking absently.  He closed his eyes.  When he 
opened them, he turned one corner of his mouth up into a 
half-hearted smile, looking embarrassed.  He bent over and 
picked up the backpack that sat on the floor near his feet.  
"I gotta go," he said, and quickly walked away, leaving her 
to stand among the partially opened packets of dehydrated 
beef and astronaut ice cream.  

She let out a confused breath and then brought her hand to 
her cross, feeling the smooth metal on the pads of her 
fingers.  

A memory from long ago assaulted her.  It was of William as 
a baby, when she was his mother.  Both of them on her bed, 
his feet happily kicking wildly and his lips blowing wet, 
sloppy bubbles.  She dangled her necklace over him and he 
watched the light bounce off of it, trying to grab it.

Scully turned to watch him go, walking quickly towards the 
display campsite with its pre-pitched tents and fake water 
carpet.

And she wondered if William hadn't been talking about Susan 
Van de Kamp after all.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Kayenta Valley,
December 22, 2012
6:06 p.m.

Monica had never felt so full in her entire life, except 
for maybe once in college, and that had not been because of 
food -- exquisite food -- but rather something a little 
less solid.  She had lived in many cities throughout 
America and had traveled all over the world; she'd eaten in 
some of the finest restaurants on the planet, but 
absolutely none of them had compared to three helpings of 
five-alarm, so-hot-you-need-a-hydrant-to-put-it-out, chili 
and cornbread prepared over a campfire in the middle of an 
ancient canyon somewhere in the American southwest.  It 
could have been that she hadn't eaten in nearly twenty-four 
hours, but Monica didn't think so.  This was some very good 
chili.

They sat in a circle around the fire -- John on one side of 
Monica and Joy on her other.  Next to Joy was Gibson.  
Aiden had spent the first hour of their time at the camp 
introducing them to the group and now he was off preparing 
a place for them to sleep for the night.  From the moment 
they'd arrived at Aiden's refuge in the desert, they'd been 
treated like guests at a five star hotel.  After 
introductions, they'd received a quick tour.  The campsite 
was small, crammed in tightly between two, one-hundred foot 
cliffs.  Its floor had once been a river bed and Monica 
vaguely wondered if it was currently prone to flash 
flooding.  It seemed like the campers (residents?) had been 
here for some time, however, and despite the past two days 
of near constant downpour, the earth seemed dry.  Once the 
tour was finished, they were directed towards the campfire, 
given a bowl and a spoon each and had remained there ever 
since.

"John, I found an extra tent for you," Aiden called from 
behind them as he walked.  "Jason is putting it up now next 
to mine."  He moved quickly towards the campfire from the 
cluster of canvass and nylon tents the group called Canyon 
City.  "Gibson, you can stay with me.  Monica and Joy, if 
it's okay with you, Jessica said she has plenty of room in 
her tent."

Since arriving at Canyon City, Aiden's entire aura had 
seemed to lighten.  He walked with a bounce in his step and 
a poorly masked smile in his eyes.  It was a look of 
contentment.  It was the look of security.  Aiden felt safe 
here, and if he felt safe here, it had to be the safest 
place on the planet.  He was virtually indestructible, so 
if he was frightened, some serious shit was happening.

"Aiden, thank you.  That sounds fine," Monica said.  She 
put her licked-clean former bowl of chili down on the 
ground by her feet and felt a silly grin forming on her 
face.  She couldn't stop it.  Monica couldn't remember 
feeling more content, which surprised her.  For all intents 
and purposes, everything had just begun.  So much horror 
had already transpired but undoubtedly more was yet to 
come.  Yet somehow, this place pushed all of that to the 
background.  It was a haven and she let it embrace her 
warmly.

"Sounds fine," John agreed.  He was putting on a good act, 
but Monica could tell John was uncomfortable.  So far, 
she'd gathered that all of the residents of Canyon City 
were like Aiden.  They were Super Soldiers, or rather Alien 
Replicants, and that was the crux of John's discomfort.  He 
still was not sure what the difference was between the two 
varieties of super humans, and though Monica understood a 
little bit, she was confused as well.

Aiden smiled and sat down on a stool-sized flat top boulder 
across from, but close-by, John.  He alternated looking 
between Monica and John.  "I'm sorry," Aiden said.  

Monica's brow crinkled.  "What for?" she asked, having no 
idea what he could be sorry about.  He had saved their 
lives, fed them well and given them shelter even after John 
had tried to hack him into little bits and pieces.  Where 
she came from, that was considered excellent hospitality.

"I haven't exactly explained much of anything to you.  I'm 
sure it's very confusing," he said.  "I've never been good 
at saying what I mean out loud."

"Have you always been telepathic?" Monica asked.  She put 
her elbows on her knees and cupped her face in her hands, 
leaning in for a good story.

Aiden looked down at the ground, somewhat shy.  "Yes, but 
not like Gibson.  In fact, it wasn't until after I was 
taken and remade that I really understood who I had been.  
I just always thought I was good at guessing what people 
wanted."  He smirked boyishly.  Monica thought she saw a 
glimpse of the man he had been before, the man he still was 
at least somewhere inside his bionic shell.

"Really good at guessing, I'll bet," Monica said.

"Remade?  You mean, when you became a Super Soldier?" John 
asked.  Monica turned to look at him, surprised that he 
would even ask the question.  She hadn't thought he was 
paying attention.  He usually rolled his eyes and nodded 
along when the conversation turned to the fantastic.  
Monica knew John believed in Super Soldiers.  She also knew 
he thought they'd been created completely by the US 
military.

"I told you I'm not a Super Soldier.  I'm an Alien --"

"--Alien Replicant, right," John interrupted.  "Po-tay-to, 
po-tah-to.  Call it what you want, but you were created by 
the government to be some kind of a superior being."

Aiden shook his head.  "No, I wasn't.  What you call a 
Super Soldier *was* created by the military, conceived by a 
shadow government of men, most of whom are dead, not simply 
to be a superior soldier for traditional war, but to be a 
soldier that could fight the invasion of the ruling Grays 
while ostensibly appearing as if its creation supported the 
inevitable colonization.  The ruse, the story the men told 
the aliens, was that the Super Soldier would assist the 
Grays in preparation for invasion.  In exchange for their 
complicity, the conspirators and their families would be 
saved.  In reality, the humans planned to make the Super 
Soldier resistant to the virus, which the Grays would use 
to infect and exterminate mankind.  The Super Soldier would 
be used as a weapon against the aliens themselves.  Your 
friend Knowle Rohrer --"

"You knew Knowle?" John asked.  He would deny it, but 
John's face gave away a hint of sadness upon hearing his 
former friend's name.  John had told Monica of the time the 
two of them had spent in the Marine Corps together.  They 
had been very good friends, ages ago.  

"No, I never met him, but I have heard you speak of him in 
your mind.  He was a Super Solder.  One of the first.  What 
would today be called a Level C Hybrid or a Gamma by the 
new leaders of The Project.  At the time, he was the most 
state of the art technical creation in the universe.  It 
didn't last long," Aiden said, stopping.  To Monica, he 
seemed to be appraising them, as if he was trying to figure 
out how much they believed him and if he was clearly 
expressing what he was trying to say.  

"What didn't last long, Aiden?  What did they make next?" 
Monica asked.  She suspected what he would say, but wanted 
to hold herself back and avoid presumptions.  Nevertheless, 
she found that she had moved forward on her log bench, 
sitting on its edge.

"Not they, but Them," Aiden said and looked up to the 
blanket of stars above them.  "The Grays discovered the 
conspirators had plotted against them to stop colonization 
and sabotage the hybrid program.  Because of this and 
because of one other factor, just before most of the 
members of the Syndicate were murdered by a rival alien 
faction, the ruling Grays began a new Hybridization program 
of their own, in secret."

Monica felt warmth press against her arm.  She looked down 
to find Joy asleep and leaning against her.  She raised her 
arm and wrapped it around Joy, pulling the girl closer to 
her, not wanting to end story time just yet, but glad Joy 
was not awake to hear it.  She had witnessed too much of 
this project firsthand.

"I am a result of that project," Aiden said.  That wasn't 
what Monica thought he was going to say.  She'd suspected 
he would say Joy was the end result.

"What was the other factor?" Monica asked.  

Not missing a step, Aiden replied, smiling close-mouthed, 
"The Super Soldiers were defective."

"Defective?  Seem damn near indestructible if you ask me," 
John said, chuffing a little. 

"Not indestructible," Gibson said.  They all turned to see 
him.  He hadn't said a word since dinner, and as Monica was 
re-learning was normal for Gibson, he had retreated inside 
himself for much of that.  He tended to speak when he had 
something to say, which was more Monica could say for most 
people.  "They get too close to high concentrations of 
iron, they die."

Aiden nodded.  "Because the conspirators used alien DNA, 
the Super Soldiers inherited an alien weakness."

"An alien weakness?  You mean all aliens are allergic to 
iron?" Monica asked.  

"Not all, but most.  The weakness is the reason 
colonization has taken this long to germinate.  The reason 
the humans were able to convince the Grays to put off 
colonization was partly due to this.  The Grays needed time 
to create an antidote to fight their allergy, if that's 
what you would like to call it.  Without it, they cannot 
set foot on the earth, or at least, not many parts of it.  
There are some who have immunity and they have been used to 
do their work," Aiden said.

"Like the Bounty Hunter," John said.  Aiden nodded.

"Aiden, you said 'partly due.'  What is the other reason 
the aliens put off colonization until now?" Monica asked.

"In 1947, an alien scouting party crashed and the humans 
discovered the alien plans for colonization.  Until then, 
the aliens had never had any intention of making contact 
with the humans prior to colonization.  They realized they 
could use the humans and their fear to accomplish their 
goals of creating a vaccine against the iron allergy.  But 
the date of colonization has been set for thousands of 
years -- or millions depending on which myth you believe.  
It is an old prophesy from the time when the ancestors of 
the Grays had first come to this planet," Aiden said.

This was getting good.  Monica had so many questions that 
she didn't know where to begin.  John saved her from 
deciding.

"Wait a second, there's one thing I don't understand," John 
said.  "If you were created by the aliens and the Super 
Soldiers were created by the military, how is it that you 
seem to be the good guys in this drama and they are the bad 
guys?  Shouldn't it be the other way around?"

That wasn't really the first question Monica would have 
asked, but it was one she had also wondered about.  
Ultimately, it was the question that was most immediate to 
their situation.  John wanted to make sure he was really 
among friends.

"I, and the others here, and many others who are not here, 
were selected for the hybridization program because of a 
unique experience we all shared.  We had all been abducted 
and tested on for the original hybrid program, but also, we 
all had abnormal brain functions during which time our 
dormant DNA had been switched on."

"Dormant DNA?" John asked.

"I remember reading Dana's notes about Gibson in the X-
Files," Monica said, trying to remember from long ago.  
"She said that Gibson has a kind of remnant or junk DNA 
that matches DNA found in the alien virus.  She said we all 
have that DNA remnant, but its usually dormant or inactive.  
In Gibson it was turned on."  Monica looked over at Gibson, 
wondering if he would add to her half-remembered facts.  He 
remained silent and his facial expression did not change.

"Yes, that's right," Aiden continued.  "For some of us, 
switching on our inactive DNA caused our telepathy to 
become more pronounced.  For others, it was the first time 
they had realized they were telepathic.  For all of us, the 
experience nearly killed us."

"Okay, but that doesn't answer the question," John said. 

"John, he's saying that what happened to Billy Miles, what 
happened to Mulder, it happened to him, too.  What happened 
to Knowle was something different.  Related, but 
different," Monica said.

"Yes, all of us who were to become what I am today were 
uniquely suited for transformation because essentially, we 
were already alien.  Or, better, we were already equal 
parts alien and equal parts human.  We just needed some 
tweaking," Aiden said.  "Your friend, Knowle, was never 
alien."

"John," Monica said, tugging on his sleeve lightly to get 
his full attention, "Aiden and Billy are the genuine 
product.  Knowle was pieced together using alien leftovers.  
They're all from the same place, ultimately, but not the 
same at all," Monica said, trying to help.  John was quiet 
for a moment, and Monica thought she could see the wheels 
turning.  At least he wasn't laughing, because she would 
probably have to kill him if he had been.

"And if we hadn't stopped it, if Dana hadn't stopped the 
virus from progressing, Mulder would have become like you 
are now, too?" John asked, directing his question to Aiden, 
who nodded.  "That still doesn't answer the question.  It 
doesn't explain why both of you, the Super Soldiers and the 
others like you, switched teams," John said.  Off her look, 
he asked Monica, "What?"

She hadn't realized it, but her lips were stretched from 
ear to ear and she was staring at him.  "Nothing," she 
said, still grinning, turning back to Aiden.  "I don't 
quite get that either.  When Dana's son, William, was born, 
Billy Miles and the others like him watched, even though it 
had seemed like Billy was trying to kill them both before 
that.  When I delivered the baby -- what?"  Aiden had gone 
completely still and he looked ashen.  "What is it?"

Aiden swallowed.  "You delivered William?  The William?  
You are the one who brought him into this world?"

"Yes, I was trying to hide them both, to protect them.  I 
assumed you knew that.  You know so much about us already," 
Monica said.

"I guess I didn't realize," Aiden said, still seeming off 
kilter.

"Why does that matter?"

Aiden swallowed.  "Just that William is the answer to your 
question.  He is the reason, or rather a symbolic part of 
the reason," he said.  

"I don't understand," Monica and John said together.

"That prophesy I spoke of -- William is the key -- the key 
to everything.  He is the reason we are here.  He's the 
reason those of us at Canyon City *switched teams*," he 
said, smiling at John.

Seconds after Aiden stopped speaking, a giant ball of light 
exploded on the horizon.  Before they heard the whir of 
machinery slashing through the sky, Monica saw the sound's 
source.  Dozens of triangular spacecraft, like the one that 
had chased them through the desert, zipped over their 
heads, miles above them, but too close for comfort.  Once 
they were past, the formation climbed straight up and 
looped around together, reversing their path and heading 
back towards Canyon City.

"They see us," Aiden said and the panic erupted from the 
tents behind them.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Colorado Springs, Colorado
December 22, 2012
4:51 p.m.

Mulder had managed to find all of the items on the list 
Scully had given him, so he wandered around the store 
gathering random loose ends such as extra batteries, pocket 
knives, anything he could find room for that might be 
useful.  Something in his gut told him they shouldn't stay 
here very long, but he also knew they needed to be prepared 
for as much as possible.  Life as they knew it had 
officially ended, even if the reality of it had yet to set 
in.  All of them seemed to be walking around in a daze, 
somewhere between their past and their future.  As far as 
they knew, they were the only living humans remaining and 
things they had once taken for granted, such as 
electricity, running water, gas stations with working 
pumps, had instantly become precious commodities.  The age 
of twenty-four hour convenience was over, though Mulder did 
like the idea of never needing money again.  At least for 
the time being, materials were plentiful and demand was 
low.

Mulder looked up, found himself in between two aisle-long, 
ten-foot shelves, covered with every type of water bottle 
he could have imagined.  There were bottles of any 
desirable size, and in every shape and color.  The waning 
afternoon light bounced off of the bottles and danced on 
the floor in front of him, mesmerizing him.  He never 
wanted to leave.  It was stupid, but in this place there 
still was beauty and nothing else mattered to Mulder.  Here 
he had no obligations and the world wasn't falling apart.  
He was accountable to no one.

"Mulder?" a familiar voice asked softly.  Scully.  She was 
always there to shake him back into reality, whether he 
wanted it or not.  She was behind him and he turned to face 
her.  She looked pale and her eyes darted back and forth, 
not quite maintaining eye contact with him.

"What's wrong, Scully?" he asked, stepping closer to her.  
They hadn't had a moment alone since they'd arrived at the 
Van de Kamp's house, and though the others were wandering 
around the store, somehow the cavern of water bottles made 
him feel like they were the only two people alive.  

She had a back pack slung over her shoulder which she let 
drop to the floor.  She crossed her arms, hugging herself.  
"Nothing's wrong," she said, her eyes fixed on his chest, 
sounding completely unconvincing.  Mulder stepped even 
closer to her and reached out to touch her, sliding a 
fingertip over her chin, gently lifting her face up so he 
could look into her eyes.  He gave her what he thought was 
his best sympathetic look and she softened a bit.  "I was 
talking with William," she said.

He stayed quiet, knowing there was more, wanting to keep 
her from closing up.  They'd spoken so little in the last 
few months and though they'd made some progress since 
leaving Minnesota, there was still so much left unspoken 
between them.  He knew it was foolish, but a part of him 
had believed things would be easy once they'd found 
William.  In reality, their situation was so much more 
complicated -- more complicated than he'd ever imagined.  
They were complete strangers to him and William was a 
stranger to them.  Mulder suspected it was worse for 
Scully.  Mulder had dreamed about William.  The boy in his 
dreams was the same boy who called Rob Van de Kamp dad, but 
he had been recognizable to Mulder.  Scully hadn't seen 
William since he had been a baby.  To see him nearly into 
his teens was shocking, somewhat surreal.

"I -- I don't know what to say to him, Mulder," she said.  
"His mother died only yesterday."

"You're his mother," Mulder said, unable to stop himself, 
wishing he could take the words back as soon as they had 
escaped from his lips.  

"No, I'm not," she said and Mulder could see tears forming 
in her eyes, though she fought them back.  

"He just needs time, Scully," Mulder said, wrapping his 
arms around her.  She buried her face in his chest and slid 
her hands over his hips, behind his back, holding him 
tightly.  Mulder felt her shake her head back and forth.

"I don't think I can do it, Mulder," she said.  "I have no 
right to tell him who I am.  He's already had so much hurt.  
I can't do that to him," she said, stepping away from 
Mulder,  He held her hand, keeping her closer than she 
probably wanted, forcing her to stay with him physically 
and emotionally.  "I'm not even sure he knows he was 
adopted.  It would change everything he's ever known about 
himself."

"I'm not so sure he doesn't already know," Mulder said.

Scully became very still, slipping her hand from his grasp.  
"What do you mean?  You think he *does* know he was 
adopted?" Scully asked, though Mulder suspected that wasn't 
the question she wanted to ask.

"Yes, but that's not what I mean.  I think he knows about 
us," Mulder said.  He had been dreaming about William for a 
long time, if one could call them dreams.  To Mulder, they 
had always seemed like video communications in his mind, or 
reality using metaphor through dreams.  From the moment 
William had stepped through Rob's bedroom and Mulder had 
seen him in person for the first time, Mulder had the 
feeling William had recognized him.  Maybe he hadn't known 
how at first, but William knew now.  Not only that, William 
could read their minds.  

"How could he know?" Scully asked. She didn't sound 
surprised so much as she sounded fearful.

Mulder shrugged.  "Just a hunch," he said.  Scully didn't 
say anything.  Instead, she wrapped her arms around herself 
again, as if she were freezing.  Mulder stepped forward, 
putting his hands on her shoulders and rubbing downward 
over her arms.  He brought one hand up to caress her cheek, 
using the backs of his fingers, coaxing her to look at him.  
"What is it Scully?  Did he say something to you?"  

She shook her head, closed her eyes, took in a breath, and 
nodded.  Mulder kissed her forehead, then whispered into 
her ear softly, trying not to sound demanding.  "Tell me."

He pulled his face back, letting her get her bearings.  "He 
told me a story about his mother.  He said his mother had a 
necklace like mine when he was little," Scully said.

"I suppose it's a fairly common-looking necklace.  I know 
the Van de Kamp's are Christians.  I saw a Bible in the 
bedroom --" Scully shook her head.

"Mulder, I got the feeling William wasn't talking about 
Mrs. Van de Kamp," she said, smiling nervously, almost 
bashfully.  

That confirmed it for Mulder.  Even Scully suspected 
William knew who they were.  The question now was what do 
they do about it?  Mulder returned Scully's smile, bent 
down and kissed her lightly on the lips.  He pulled back 
only slightly and rested his forehead against hers.  "We'll 
figure this out," he whispered and he kissed her again, 
lingering there until he felt her pull away.

"First we should leave.  Find wherever it is we're trying 
to go," she said, bending down to pick up the backpack she 
had dropped on the floor.  "I'm going to take this to the 
truck."

"I'll round everybody up," he said.  She turned to leave, 
but he stopped her.  He gave her one more, quick kiss and a 
gentle squeeze on her shoulder.  "We'll figure it out, 
Scully."

"I know," she said, sadly.  "We always do, Mulder."

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Kayenta Valley,
December 22, 2012
6:31 p.m.

"I thought this place was safe!" Doggett shouted as they 
ran.  

"Nothing is completely safe," Aiden shouted back.  He ran a 
few steps ahead of Doggett and the others, leading them 
along, next to the high canyon walls.  "Come on, we have to 
get to the caves.  The geology should protect us."

"Unless they got one of you to fly that thing for them," 
Doggett said.  

Aiden stopped and spun around on his heels, looking at 
Doggett.  Fear crossed over his face momentarily then he 
shook his head.  "They don't let them fly," he said.  
"Would have been smart, though.  Don't you think?"  Slowly, 
a smile spread across Aiden's face and Doggett couldn't 
believe it, but the man winked at him.  Doggett felt his 
own smile grow and the two of them burst out laughing 
together.  

"What are you two laughing about?" Monica asked, her face 
screwed halfway between fear and frustration.  Her fingers 
were stuck in her ears, trying to block out some of the 
drone of the alien fighters, which had so far flown back 
and forth over them approximately a dozen times, but had 
yet to actually do anything to them.  It was a cat and 
mouse game and right now the mice scrambled to find a hole.  
Citizens of Canyon City ran chaotically past them, some 
fumbled with their few possessions, others simply looked 
confused, beyond afraid.  

"Why don't they attack us?" Doggett asked anyone who would 
answer.  He could barely hear his own voice.  He wondered 
how a species so technically advanced that it could fly 
half way across the galaxy thousands of years before man 
had harnessed fire couldn't figure out how to make a 
muffler for a spaceship.  That thought made him laugh even 
harder.

"What?" Monica shouted.  

"They can't decide how to do it," Aiden said, catching his 
breath and finally controlling his laughter.  He pointed to 
the smooth rock wall behind Doggett as other members of the 
group ran past him.  "But I don't think it will take them 
much longer.  We have to get everyone inside."  

Doggett turned around.  Chiseled into the canyon wall was a 
small opening.  It didn't look like a natural cave, but one 
forcibly made by men.  The opening was round and only about 
four feet high.  Men, women and children were darting 
inside faster than Doggett could blink.  Without 
hesitation, Gibson ran inside.  When they didn't follow, 
Gibson poked his head out and waved for Monica, Joy and 
Doggett to follow.  Aiden held his hand out, directing them 
to the cave, trying to wordlessly assure them it was okay, 
perhaps forgetting for a moment that they could not read 
his mind.  Monica looked at Doggett and he shrugged, 
looking up into the sky one more time, before nodding.  One 
by one the last of them crawled inside the cave, Doggett 
last. Behind him, Doggett heard a deep scraping sound and 
then all of the light was gone.

One second later, all at once, a clicking sound and then 
the cave was lit again.

"This place is wired?" Doggett asked.

"Not really.  Most are battery powered emergency lights, 
though we do have extra generators that we can hook up 
later.  This is our bomb shelter," Aiden said, seeming 
proud.  It amused Doggett somewhat that this man made from 
alien DNA and technology was proud of a network of cheap 
emergency lights.

"What now?" Doggett asked.

"Oh my God, where's Joy?" Monica asked.  She twisted 
around, turning in every direction looking for the girl who 
a moment earlier had been within a foot of her.  

Outside, Doggett heard the alien craft turn for another 
pass.  Even through the walls of the cave, they were 
louder.  "They're lower," he mumbled, mostly to himself.  
He was about to help Monica search for Joy, when the ground 
rumbled and then a thunderous boom permeated through the 
rock walls from somewhere nearby outside.  Doggett had 
never experienced an earthquake before, but he was sure the 
ground was about to rip itself in half.  Inside, the 
members of the group exhibited little of the panic he had 
just witnessed on the way to the cave, completely confusing 
Doggett, because he was far more afraid now than he had 
been outside.  Something terrible was happening outside, 
maybe not in the camp, but certainly near it, and he could 
not believe this cave, made mostly of ancient limestone, 
would protect them for much longer.

"Have you seen her?" Monica asked, grabbing Doggett's arm 
and pulling him from his thoughts.  "John?  Have you?"

"No, I saw her come inside.  She has to be here somewhere," 
Doggett said.

"Joy?" Monica called out.  

"Monica, she's over there.  It's okay," Aiden said, 
touching her lightly on the shoulder, directing her to turn 
around.

In a far corner of the cave barely touched by light was a 
cluster of Canyon City residents.  They stood and sat in a 
semi-organized circle around something Doggett could not 
quite see, but he could see Joy.  She was on her knees, 
looking at something or someone.  She barely moved, but 
something held her in rapt attention.  Doggett followed 
Monica to the group.  Once close enough, he saw what Joy 
was looking at.  Sitting on a large boulder, tucked into 
the corner between two red, iron-striped walls, was a man 
who seemed familiar to Doggett.  He was middle-aged, maybe 
older, thin, with silver hair and kind eyes.  He moved his 
hands calmly as he spoke.  The appearance of the group 
surrounding him and the tone the man used suggested he was 
telling them a story, a wonderful and calming story by the 
looks on the faces of the listeners.  They all looked 
slightly dazed, but content.

"Joy?" Monica said, stepping forward.  

Aiden held her back.  "Shhh," he said, softly, without 
anger.  "She's okay."

"Who is that guy," she asked, adjusting her voice to match 
the quiet of the cave.  Outside there were still distant 
rumblings, but whatever was happening out there was only an 
after thought now.  Whoever this man was, he was 
hypnotizing all of them, John included.

Not taking his eyes off of the man, Aiden said, "He's the 
one who protects us and shows us the way.  He is Jeremiah.  
He is like our father."

"Jeremiah," Doggett said, more to himself.  After a moment 
of working it out in his head, he realized he had been 
right about finding the man familiar.  "Monica --" he 
started to ask, but he was interrupted by the largest boom 
they had heard so far.  Doggett thought he'd felt the earth 
lift him up off of his feet for a moment and set him down 
an inch away.  The rumbling continued and it felt vaguely 
like an enormous massaging chair, vibrating through him in 
a not entirely unpleasant way.  That didn't last long, 
however, and soon after the first boom, there was a second.  

And then there was only darkness for all of them.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

William dug the toe of his spiked shoe into the dirt three 
times and tapped the end of his bat on home plate.  A 
faint, pleasant summer breeze washed over his face as he 
looked up into the bright blue, cloudless sky and the smell 
of hot dogs and caramel popcorn hit his nose.  He lifted 
his bat and cocked it.  Behind him, the umpire called "play 
ball" and William turned his head towards the pitcher's 
mound.

The pitcher wound up, kicked out his leg and let the ball 
fly, hurling it towards the imaginary box better known as 
the strike zone.  As the pitcher's face became visible, 
William realized it was the face of his friend, Eric.  
Vaguely, William registered the sound of leather hitting 
leather as the ball landed in the catcher's mitt.

"Strike!" the umpire called.

William barely noticed.

"Hey Will!  Told ya you can't hit my fastball!" Eric 
called.  William was used to being razzed by Eric, and 
normally he would have fired something right back at him.  
That's what you do with your best friend, one-up each 
other, but standing there in the batter's box after taking 
the first strike, William couldn't think of a thing to say.  
Eric was dead.  William had seen him.  What do you say to 
your friend when he's dead?

"Come on, Will.  Get ready," Eric said.  "Or are you 
scared?"   Eric grinned playfully, waggling his eyebrows.

"Let's go, kid," the umpire said.  "Gotta keep this game 
moving."

Will looked back at the umpire who was spitting sunflower 
seed shells on the ground.  The umpire put his face mask 
back on and pointed a meaty finger at Eric, letting him 
know it was okay to throw.  

William shook his head and asked nobody in particular, "Am 
I dreaming?"

"Of course you're dreaming, kid.  Now are you ready to hit 
or not?  I have another game in a couple of hours," the 
umpire said.  "Time doesn't stand still, you know.  Not 
even for you."

William brought the bat up again as Eric threw the ball.  
William swung and missed.  Peripherally, he heard Eric 
laugh as the umpire called strike two.  William stepped 
away from the plate, out of the batter's box. 

"Aww, man," Eric said, throwing up his hands and kicking 
the pitching rubber.

"Come on, son.  You can do it," a voice called from 
somewhere in the crowd behind him.  William turned around, 
looking for his father.  He scanned the couple dozen 
spectators sitting in the bleachers behind home plate.  He 
couldn't find his father, but he saw Mulder sitting next to 
Dana on the third bleacher row from the top.  "Just keep 
your eye on the ball, Will," Mulder said, cupping his hands 
around his mouth like a megaphone.

"Dad?" William asked.

"Just like we practiced," Mulder said, clapping his hands 
together encouragingly.  

Dana sat beside Mulder, smiling broadly, wearing a New York 
Yankees baseball cap and clapping as well.  "Just make 
contact, Will," she said.

"I'm not sure I can," William said, more to himself.

"Ump!  Time out!" Eric called.  

"Time!" the umpire yelled, throwing both arms up in the air 
like he was preparing to take flight.

Eric jogged the distance to home plate, and stood in front 
of William with his hands on his hips, looking at him 
disapprovingly.  "Pull yourself together, man," Eric said.

"Eric, you're the pitcher, I'm the batter.  You're not 
supposed to call time and talk to me," William said in a 
half-whisper.

"I'm on your side, man, but you've got to snap out of it.  
Everything depends on you," Eric said, putting a gloved 
hand on Will's shoulder.  

"What does?" William asked.

Eric grinned.  "I don't want to put pressure on you, man, 
but pretty much the fate of the world.  What's left of it.  
Kinda sucks, huh?"  Eric said.

"Really sucks," William pouted and looked down to the 
ground.

"Come on, Will.  Everybody's waiting," a smaller voice 
said.  William didn't recognize this voice, but it sounded 
like a girl standing right next to him.  He shifted his 
body slightly to the right, standing with his right 
shoulder to the umpire and the catcher, but not turning his 
back to Eric.  It was the catcher's voice.  She stood up 
and removed her mask.  "We don't have all day, you know," 
the catcher said, sounding like a little sister pestering 
him.

"Who are you?" William asked a little sharper than he 
intended, the left side of his face scrunching up.  

"Who am I?  Good one, Will.  Just hit the ball already," 
the catcher said smiling, patting William on the arm with 
her catcher's mitt.  She was shorter than William, but not 
by much and had shoulder length blonde hair and bright 
green eyes.

"Joy's right, Will.  It's time to put up or shut up," Eric 
said.

"I can't do this alone, Eric," William said, shaking his 
head, feeling tears sting his eyes, but fighting them back.  
The last thing he wanted to do was cry in front of his best 
friend and all of these strangers, real or imagined.  "I 
don't even know what to do."

"You're not alone.  You have them," he said soberly, 
nodding towards the bleachers.  William turned to see 
Mulder and Dana looking at him, both with worry lines 
across their foreheads.  He turned back around to face 
Eric.

"I barely know them," he said, trying to sound convincing.  

"You know them.  They'll help you, if you listen to them... 
if you listen to yourself," Eric said.

"Hey Will?  You okay, buddy?" Mulder called.  "Just keep 
your eye on the ball, and you can do it, son."  

William looked at Mulder, stretching the moment, and 
finally nodded.

"And Will, they'll help you, too," Eric said.  William 
faced his friend who pointed out towards the field.  
William hadn't noticed before, but there were runners on 
all three bases and suddenly the field was filled with 
defensive players.  As if cued by Eric's finger, they all 
raised up their hands to wave back.  They were all 
different ages, a few were younger than he and Eric but the 
oldest looked like he was in high school.  They all wore 
white baseball pants and a plain white jersey.  All of 
their clothing was devoid of any color.

"How can they help me?  Aren't they just all in my head?" 
William asked.  "Aren't you?"

Eric laughed.  "Will, you have more reality in your head 
than most people ever experience in their entire lives," he 
said.  

"Kid, if you don't get back in the box now, I'm going to 
call this game and you'll have to forfeit," the umpire 
said.  "What's it gonna be?"

Eric nodded, smiled at William one last time and trotted 
back to the pitcher's mound.  Joy pulled her mask back over 
her face and resumed her squat.  William glanced towards 
Mulder and Dana, who sat on the bench with a mixture of 
worry and encouragement on their faces.  

"I'm ready," William said.

"Now we're talkin'," the umpire said, pulling his own mask 
on.  "Play ball!"

"Hey, Will!" Eric called.  "One more thing."

"What?" William called back.

"Follow your gut.  You'll know when to take the pitch or to 
swing.  Don't let the impostors distract you from keeping 
your eye on the ball," Eric said.

He wanted to ask Eric what he meant, but the umpire 
grunted, not hiding his disapproval.  William slowly set 
one foot inside the batter's box.  His other foot followed 
and he raised his bat back.  On the mound, Eric stood 
sideways, focused on the catcher's mitt and wound his arm 
backwards. 

The last thing William saw before he awoke was the little 
white ball sailing towards him.

As he swung the bat, he did not blink.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Washington, D.C.
December 22, 2012
9:01 p.m. EST

"Christian, wake up," someone whispered, pulling him from 
sleep the way a ball of cotton is pulled apart.  He felt a 
hand on his shoulder, gently shaking.  "I need another 
sample."

Christian opened his eyes, blinked.  He looked around, saw 
the familiar sterilized white of his dormitory room.  
Moments ago, he had been playing baseball.  The air was 
cool and had smelled of cotton candy and pretzels and the 
sky had been beautiful blue.  It had been so long since 
he'd actually seen the sky, he was not sure if that was the 
color it was supposed to be anymore.  

Now he only smelled the forced, ventilated air of the 
laboratory.  The only blue he could see was on Tom Davis' 
loosened silk tie.  

"Christian, wake up," Tom said.  "You're the last one for 
the night."

Coming back to himself, Christian sat up.  "You know you 
shouldn't call me that.  What if someone heard you?" he 
said.

Tom forced a smile.  Christian knew what Tom wanted to say, 
but wondered if he actually would.  "Nobody's going to hear 
me.  We're alone.  I just need a quick sample and then you 
can go back to sleep," Tom said.

"I know," Christian said, sticking out his arm, palms up 
and rolling up his sleeve, exposing the catheter linked to 
a vein.  His arm was pock marked with purple scars and 
various shades of gray bruises.  So much blood had been 
taken from him that Christian was surprised he had any left 
to give.  Tom removed a syringe from a plastic wrapping and 
uncapped the needle.  Silence stretched out between them as 
Tom pushed the needle into the catheter and drew back.  

They were often silent in each other's presence.  When 
Christian would allow Tom into his mind, they would have 
whole silent conversations.  Usually, they would speak of 
trivial topics.  Which baseball team was doing well this 
year, the latest movie Tom had seen.  Occasionally, Tom 
would let his guard down, and his mind would wander to more 
serious issues, like how he felt about holding twelve 
children hostage and using them as lab rats.  

Tom looked at Christian, nervously smiling.  "You were 
dreaming.  Baseball again?" he asked.  "I don't think the 
Nationals have much of a chance this year, I'm afraid.  You 
might want to start rooting for another team."

"Is there another team?" Christian asked. 

Tom's smile faded.  "No, I guess there isn't."  Tom pulled 
the needle from the catheter and replaced the syringe's 
cap.  

"I was dreaming about baseball, but not about the 
Nationals," Christian said.

"Oh?" Tom asked, avoiding eye contact.

Christian reached out with his other hand and grabbed Tom's 
arm.  He opened his mind, unlocking the door hiding his 
private thoughts that he normally kept tightly shut.  
Christian allowed Tom to see the images in his mind of 
another boy his same age and a game of baseball.  He was 
not completely sure why he did so.  It was a compulsion he 
let take him over.  Tom sat silently, like he was in a 
trance.  Suddenly he stood up, shoving Christian's hand 
from his arm.

"Why did you show that to me?" Tom demanded.  Christian 
remained seated on his bed.  He could sense Tom's confusion 
and fear, though Tom appeared angry.  "You know who I am!"

Calmly, Christian met his captor's eyes.  "I know who you 
are.  I know who you want to be," he said.  "Do you?" 

Quickly, Tom gathered the sample of Christian's blood and 
the other items he had brought in with him and walked out 
of the door to the boy's bedroom.  Christian exhaled, 
momentarily afraid he had made a terrible mistake.  As he 
heard Tom's footsteps move quickly down the hall, he 
relaxed slightly.  

He could hear Tom's thoughts perfectly.  

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Southwestern United States
December 22, 2012
7:04 p.m.

The five of them saw the smoke swirling above the canyon 
almost five miles before being forced to abandon the truck 
and walk the last half mile on foot, their newly acquired 
packs slung over their shoulders.  Liam assured Mulder that 
the truck would be safe and that the smoke was probably 
only the evening campfires.

Mulder hadn't asked Liam how it was possible that they 
could see smoke from campfires at seven o'clock at night 
because Mulder already had an idea.  Behind them the black 
sky was dotted with clear stars and a waning half moon.  In 
front of them, like a force field, a ball of light hovered 
from the horizon into the air above the canyon walls, 
giving the illusion that it was only late evening, not a 
fully formed winter night.  Mulder had considered telling 
Scully to wait with William in the truck while he surveyed 
what he expected to be a war zone, possibly still 
entrenched in a battle, but decided against it.  They would 
not necessarily be any safer alone in the desert than they 
would be in Liam's camp.  At least with Scully and William 
along, Mulder could keep his eye on them, and Scully could 
help him keep an eye on Liam.  They had come this far 
together, and they might as well see it through.

On either side of them, natural walls made of sandstone -- 
more of a brownish tint than the usual reddish one for this 
part of the country -- jutted up above them.  The closer 
they got to the camp, the more the opening at the top 
narrowed, creating a cave-like feeling.  They were walking 
on the floor of an ancient river that had carved the stone 
into a natural fortress.  

They arrived at a manmade stone wall spanning twenty feet, 
completely blocking their path except for a small opening 
large enough for a car to drive through, but only barely.  
The wall was about eight feet high.  At the opening there 
were hinges for a gate, but the wooden gate itself had 
fallen or been broken off and lay on the ground in the 
middle of the path.  

"That's strange," Liam said.  "There's always someone here 
standing guard." 

"Maybe they went out for coffee," Mulder said.

"No, they are not allowed to leave unless someone relieves 
them," Liam said, oblivious to Mulder's sarcasm.

The light Mulder had seen from the distance had died down a 
little, but now he could see orange flames pushing the 
smoke higher on the other side of the wall.  The smoke was 
much thicker here and it billowed up in dark charcoal 
waves.  When they'd ditched the truck, they hadn't been 
able to smell the stench that assaulted them once they'd 
arrived at the gate.  It was not the smell of a campfire or 
roasting hot dogs.  It was an odor Mulder wished he was 
unfamiliar with.  It was the smell of burning flesh mixed 
in with a hundred other substances, all of them foul.  

They passed through the opening where the gate had been, 
and Mulder's suspicions were confirmed.  What wasn't 
burning had turned to piles of ash.  Shapes that resembled 
vehicles, pop-up campers, tents, tables, a campfire circle 
with wooden stools and benches, and people, were scattered 
for several hundred feet in front of them.  All were turned 
to carbon, most still smoldered.  

"No!" Liam shouted, running towards the still-burning 
carcass of an RV camper.  

"Oh my God, Mulder," Scully said, standing with her 
shoulder touching Mulder's arm.  The four of them stood in 
a line watching Liam as he ran from pile of ash to pile of 
ash, from victim to victim, desperately trying to find any 
sign of life.  There was none.  Men, women and children had 
been consumed by some great catastrophe that rivaled the 
Plague itself, if not in scale then in horror. 

"Hello!" Liam called, "Is anyone here?  Come out if you're 
here!  It is Liam.  It is safe now."  He was difficult to 
hear above the sound of the crackling fire.  He received no 
answer after several minutes of frantically calling out.  
Finally, he collapsed to the ground and sat prone but 
slumped over, looking at his hands and shaking his head.

"What happened here?" Rob asked, nearly gasping the words.  

"I think the aliens are cleaning house," Mulder said.

"He said it was safe here," Rob said.

"I guess he got the wrong memo," Mulder said soberly.  

"Do you think they're still here?" Rob asked.

"I hope not," Mulder said, watching Scully walk over to a 
body lying on the ground nearby.  She bent over, inspecting 
something Mulder couldn't make out.

"Mulder, take a look at this," Scully called.

"Stay here," Mulder said to Rob.  "Keep him here."  Rob 
nodded and pulled William closer to him.  Mulder jogged the 
short distance to Scully.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Spent shell casings," Scully said, standing up straight.  
"The ground is riddled with them."

"They probably shot them all first then burned the place 
before they left," Mulder said, looking around at the 
evidence.  He studied Scully.  She stood with her hands on 
her hips, staring towards a flaming truck, but not really 
looking, with her brow crinkled.  "Is something wrong?"

She let out a breath.  She opened her mouth to speak then 
closed it again, looking at Mulder.  They both smiled and 
laughed at the absurdity of Mulder's question.  "This is 
just weird.  We're in the middle of the desert, and rather 
than come in here with hundreds of space craft and bomb the 
place, or whatever weapons they have, they come in on foot, 
using shotguns?"

Mulder nodded his head in the direction of Liam, who was 
still sitting on the ground in a daze.  "Maybe he knows 
something," he said.

"How could he?  He's been with us for days," Scully said.

"I don't know," Mulder said, dropping his shoulders.  

"You were sure there was something to find here," Scully 
said, more a statement than a question.  Mulder nodded.  He 
had been sure.  He hadn't known what it was, but he'd been 
sure there was something at this place that would set them 
on a path, maybe give them a chance to fight back.  

Scully stepped closer to him and put her arms around his 
waist, giving him a quick hug that he returned.  Stepping 
back, she looked up at him and smiled sorrowfully.  

"Mulder!  Dana!" William called.  Mulder and Scully turned 
their heads towards him.  He was running and Rob was 
running after him.

"Will!  Come back here!" Rob shouted, but William paid no 
attention. 

William stopped a few feet in front of them, breathing 
hard.  Mulder bent over and put his hand on William's 
shoulder.  "What is it?

William took another deep gulp of air.  "Someone's here," 
he said as Rob caught up to him.

"Will, I told you to stay put," Rob said, breathing a 
little harder than William.

"Who's here?" Mulder asked.  "Is someone still alive?"

"He's watching us," William whispered.

"Is it someone from Liam's group?" Mulder asked.  William 
nodded.  "A survivor?"  William shook his head.

Scully reached behind her and pulled out her gun.  She 
turned around, looking in every direction for anything that 
looked strange.  

"He's laughing at you," William said.  "He knows you can't 
kill him."

"Will, quit making things up," Rob said shakily.  

"Shhh.  You should really listen to him more often," Mulder 
said, only half paying attention to Rob.

"What the hell does that mean?" Rob asked. 

"It means that William knows more about what is happening 
than you do," Mulder said, looking around the campsite.  
Turning his attention to William, Mulder asked, "Can you 
tell where he is?"

William swallowed.  He looked frightened yet determined.  
William closed his eyes, stood very still.  

"Listen Mulder," Rob rambled, "I've been pretty patient 
with the two of you, but when it comes to my son, it's none 
of your business."

"Stay quiet!" Mulder said, whispering forcefully.  Mulder 
watched as William attempted to pick up the trail of 
whoever was spying on them.  He looked like he was 
straining to single out one voice in a crowd of hundreds.  
Rob continued to rant, but just like William seemed to 
block out all of the distractions surrounding him, Mulder 
blocked out everything but William.

"Damn it, Mulder," Rob shouted, grabbing Mulder by the arm, 
spinning him around.  

William's eyes flew open.  "He's coming," William said, 
looking towards a burning truck in the distance.

The adults became very quiet and followed William's gaze.  
Before they could see anything, they heard heavy crunching 
of footsteps approaching them.  It moved slowly, but 
steadily, until a man, taller and more broadly framed than 
Mulder, appeared from within the smoke.  He was dressed in 
blue jeans, tan leather boots and a nylon ski jacket.  In 
his hands he carried a shotgun.  He walked towards them, 
but stopped thirty feet away.

Instinctively, Mulder pushed William behind him and pulled 
Scully closer.  Behind him, Mulder heard footsteps as well.  
He turned quickly to see Liam standing next to Rob, his 
eyes grave but alert.

The man in the ski jacket grinned and pumped his shot gun 
once, still pointing it to the sky.

"Welcome home, Liam.  I see your mission was successful 
after all.  We were worried about you," the man said.

"Warrick?"  Liam asked, taking a step forward.  Warrick 
pointed his shotgun at the group.  Scully responded by 
pointing her Glock at him.

"Liam, tell your friend it isn't nice to point guns at 
people," Mulder said.  "Someone could get hurt."

"I could say the same to you.  Mulder is it?  You've gotten 
old, man.  The photos do not do you justice, or maybe it's 
the other way around."  Warrick looked pointedly at Scully 
and pushed out his lower lip in a false pout.  "And Dana 
Scully?  Everyone thought both of you were dead, not that 
it matters.  Not that anyone really cared.  Have you been 
hiding all this time?"  He laughed.  

"Warrick, put the gun down.  Have you gone insane?"  Liam 
asked.  "I found William.  I found the Serpent King.  
Quetzalcoatl has returned.  Now alien and man can bring in 
the Fifth Age together."  

"Sorry *brother*," Warrick said, mockingly, "but I can't 
let that happen.  *All* the ages of mankind are coming to 
an end.  If it were up to me, I'd kill all of you, but 
someone seems to think that kid is important.  Good thing I 
stayed behind, huh?  Good thing for me, anyway."

"You swore an oath!" Liam shouted.  "To follow God's will.  
To help the aliens bring in a new era of peace with man at 
their side!"

"The only oath I swore was to the Gray leaders who are 
finally ending your pathetic race," Warrick said.  The 
smugness he showed when he first appeared was replaced by 
pure anger.  Liam seemed to have struck a nerve.  "Did you 
honestly believe this silly little cult of yours meant 
anything to them?  You make me sick."  

Warrick pointed the gun at Liam.

"Put the gun down!" Scully shouted.  Before she could 
finish, Warrick pulled the trigger.

Click!

He tried again.

Click!

"Son of a bitch!"  Warrick shouted in frustration.  He 
threw the gun to the ground and stepped forward.  Scully 
pulled the trigger on her gun, emptying the clip perfectly 
into the center of Warrick's chest.  As each bullet struck, 
Warrick grimaced, but took another step towards them.

"That still hurts you know," he said.

"You're one of them, too," Liam said, awestruck.  Mulder 
was sure Liam would reach into his back pocket, pull out a 
notepad and pen and ask the Super Soldier for his 
autograph.  

"Get back!" Mulder shouted.  "Scully, take him and run!"

Warrick continued walking but when he was five feet from 
them, he stopped.  The evil smile he had on his face 
disappeared and he began to shake from his toes to the top 
of his head.  He looked like he would throw up.  The 
exposed skin on his face and hands began to blacken and a 
sickening sound resembling a cellophane wrapper being 
crumpled emanated from the Super Soldier's body.  On his 
skin, fissures formed and cracked apart.  He did not wail 
in pain, the sound seemed to be stuck within his chest, 
unable to be shaken from his lungs.

Mulder felt a hand on his back.  William stepped from 
behind him, closing the distance between himself and the 
Super Soldier.  It's tremors increased in severity.  If 
asked, Mulder would say he could feel the earth shake in 
response.  "Stay back, William," he said, but William 
ignored him.  He lifted his hand towards the Super Soldier 
and seconds later, its body erupted into flames.  Mulder 
pulled William back, clutching him tightly.

Finally, the Super Soldier collapsed to the ground.  His 
body continued to burn, but remained still.

"William, my God" Mulder heard Rob say behind him.  Mulder 
pulled William against him even tighter.

Still looking at the body, without any emotion, William 
spoke.

"Grand slam."

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Washington, D.C.
May 2001

She wished the kiss could last forever.  There had been too 
few kisses between them in the first place and this was the 
first in a long time that was born purely from joy, hope 
and contentment, with no residue of fear or restlessness.  
Scully had everything she could hope for, all within the 
four walls of her bedroom; all within an arm's reach.  Even 
so, a line from a poem she had once read pricked her mind.  
She pulled away from the kiss, reluctantly, unable to shake 
the idea that 'nothing gold can stay.'  

Perhaps that was true, but in Mulder's eyes she saw 
everything she felt, and in his arms he held their son.

"You should rest, Scully," Mulder said without censure, 
still looking at -- mesmerized by -- William, who was 
wrapped in a blanket, his ten fingers moving without 
purpose, his eyelids heavy.  "I've got him."   

"He'll need to eat soon," Scully said.  She lightly rubbed 
the back of her finger over the soft skin of the baby's 
face.  Even when she touched him she couldn't quite believe 
it.  She was someone's mother.

Mulder whispered, "Oooh, my favorite show."

"Mulder!" she scolded him insincerely through soft 
laughter, patting him lightly on his shoulder.  He laughed 
with her, both of them comfortable and relaxed in a way 
they hadn't ever known together.  

"Go ahead, Scully, lie down," he said, nodding towards the 
bed next to them.  

She cocked her head slightly.  "Come with me?" she asked.  
"Let him sleep until it's time for his feeding."

"Okay," he said.  He moved to the bassinette and placed 
William inside.  The baby stuck his tongue out, suckling 
even in his sleep.  Scully crawled up on the bed and Mulder 
crawled over her, careful not to jostle her or put any 
weight on her.  They lay on their sides, both facing the 
bassinette and their miracle inside of it.  Mulder nestled 
behind Scully, his left arm slung loosely over her hip.  He 
softly rubbed his thumb over her abdomen, now soft and 
pliant.  Her head rested on his right arm and she placed 
her left hand in his right.  

Maybe nothing gold can stay, but by God, she would try to 
keep it anyway.

"What are you thinking?" he asked.

"That I love you," she said without hesitation, sounding 
drowsy to her own ears.  The phrase rolled easily off of 
her tongue.  She felt his hand still against her belly, 
felt him tense.  "What's wrong?"  He didn't answer.  
"Mulder?"

"Nothing, it's just that..." he sounded choked, like the 
words had caught in his throat.

"What?" she asked, feeling worry creep up her spine, 
twisting around to face him.

"That's the first time you've said that to me."

"No it isn't," she said, brow furrowed, slightly defensive.  

He relaxed a little.  "It's okay, Scully.  I've always 
known it," he said, twitching his cheek, smiling boyishly.  
"Almost always.  I'm not any better at saying it either."

She smiled softly and put the palm of her hand to his 
cheek.  "There are probably lots of things we should have 
said to each other before this point," she leaned forward 
and pressed her lips to his for a brief kiss.  Pulling 
back, keeping her hand on his cheek, she said, "Beginning 
now, let's agree to act like adults who have a child 
together rather than kids in junior high school passing 
notes during study hall."

"I would give anything to have known you in junior high, 
Scully," he said, waggling his eyebrows.  

"Mulder, you wouldn't have said two words to me then," she 
said, challenging him.  

"I think it would have been the other way around," he said.  
"I've seen your mother's photos, Scully.  You were a 
cheerleader."

"You saw pictures!" she said, feeling the telltale burn of 
mortification in her cheeks.  "I thought I'd gotten rid of 
all of the evidence.  Didn't last long, though.  I quit 
after ninth grade."  

She lifted her head up and held her head in her left hand, 
her elbow bent and resting on the pillow, still lying on 
her side.  He mirrored her posture.  "Doesn't matter," he 
said.  "The images are permanently etched into my brain.  I 
think they may become useful at a later date.  Luckily for 
you, Frohike can't download straight from my head, yet."  

"Don't be so sure," not lingering on the subject of Frohike 
for long, "Mulder, this is not exactly what I meant by 
acting like adults," she said, trying to sound serious, 
"Beginning now."

He nodded.  "Beginning now," he agreed, the corners of his 
mouth twitched as he tried to hold back his smile.

Her own smile faded.  She grew serious and looked into his 
eyes, "I do love you, Mulder.  Thank you."

He looked surprised.  "What for?"

"Just thank you," she said, laughing at herself softly.  
Against her will, a tear blurred her vision.  "For William, 
for the truth, for second chances... for you," she said.

He wiped away her lone escaped tear with the pad of his 
thumb.  "I love you, too, Scully.  Beginning now..." he said 
looking into her eyes, waiting for them to clear.  

"Beginning now," she agreed, in nearly a whisper.  

Suddenly, Mulder seemed nervous.  He licked his lips and 
sat up straight, crossing his legs.  She pulled herself up 
gingerly, leaning her back against the headboard, keeping 
her legs flat in front of her on the bed.  Taking her 
hands, he said, "Scully, I didn't plan this, but all of a 
sudden it seems like the right thing to do."

She pushed back a twinge of fear.  She never knew what to 
expect when Mulder had an idea.  It could be the most 
wonderful, inspired thought ever conjured by man or it 
could lead to mortal danger, probably with one or both of 
them landing in the hospital for the thousandth time.  
Sometimes his ideas were a combination of both extremes.  
She felt her heart rate increase.  "Okay," she said, taking 
in a deep breath, exhaling slowly.  "I'm listening." 

"Will you marry me?" he said it like it was all one word, 
but he didn't look away from her eyes.

Her own eyes felt incapable of blinking, like her lids were 
glued to her eyebrows.  

"Scully?  You don't have to answer me right now," he said, 
looking down at their joined hands.  "I know it's sudden."

"Yes," she said simply.  She felt him exhale and he looked 
up at her face again.

"Yes?" he asked, narrowing his eyes.  "Yes, it's sudden, or 
yes you will?"  

She crinkled her brow, looking at him like he was slightly 
crazy, but smiling through closed lips.  "Yes, I will."

"Okay," he said, leaning forward to kiss her gently.  
"Okay, all right."  He nodded and smiled self-consciously, 
and so did she.  He wrapped his arms around her, pulling 
her back with him so they rested against the headboard.  
She tilted her face against his chest, closing her eyes, 
feeling his heart rate slow down to a reasonable pace.  
They were getting married.  

Scully tried, but she couldn't push the poem out of her 
mind.  Nothing gold can stay.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Southwestern United States
December 23, 2012
Dawn

A loose corner of the tent's rain shield flapped in the 
early morning wind, waking him.  Mulder's eyes felt sticky 
from sleep and they were unwilling to admit without a fight 
that it was time to leave the land of dreams for reality.  
He turned over to lie on his other side, hoping Scully was 
still asleep so that he could stay a little longer in the 
cocoon of the small dome tent he shared with her.  It was 
warm inside, pleasant and he knew that outside the Winter 
desert air would be frigid.  He would pull Scully close to 
his body and fade back into the ether.  

He reached for her, but got only a cool fist full of 
sleeping bag.

"Scully?" he asked.  He sat up quickly, moving past a 
contented doze, and into alert in half of a second.  He 
pulled on his shoes and nylon ski jacket and unzipped the 
tent.  Mulder stepped outside, not bothering to close the 
tent door back up.  They'd pitched camp near the truck, a 
half a mile outside the gates of Liam's former home.  
Nobody, not even Liam, wanted to spend the night among the 
ruins and smoldering graveyard that the place now was.  
They'd considered driving even further away from it, but it 
had been late, and no one had any idea where they should 
go.  

Mulder looked around.  The sun was nearly above the horizon 
and the partly cloudy sky was a mix of orange and purple.  
Near the tent he shared with Scully was Rob and William's 
tent.  Liam slept in the truck, since he had been sure he 
would have his own accommodations with his group.  There 
was no sign that anyone was awake yet.  Fifty yards towards 
the horizon, there was an outcropping of boulders.  Sitting 
on one large boulder was Scully, her back to Mulder, facing 
the rising sun.  He walked towards her. 


"I didn't want to wake you," she said, her back still to 
him when he was only a few feet away from her.  "I'm sorry 
if I worried you."

Mulder sat down next to her on the same boulder, their 
shoulders barely touched.  He looked out to the infinite 
landscape.  From where they sat, they could see for 
hundreds of miles and the earth seemed to stretch on 
forever.  But nothing lasts forever.

"You know me," he said.  "I can't think straight when 
you're not around me."

She laughed softly.  "What's your excuse when I am around 
you?"  

He chuckled.

They were silent for a moment, watching the sun pop up 
above the line where sky met earth.  She worried her left 
ring finger, rubbing the skin there with her right thumb 
and index finger.  Mulder doubted she was aware she was 
doing it.

"Everyone's still asleep.  I'd suggest we wake them soon 
and get moving if I had any idea where we should go," he 
said, trying to fill the silence.  "Any thoughts?"

She sighed.  "Too many, actually.  But not any good ones 
about where to go," she said.    

"I'll take anything you got," he said, encouraging her.  
Mulder couldn't explain it, but he'd felt closer to her 
each day since the aliens first unleashed the Plague.  In 
the months and years before that, they'd been drifting 
farther and farther apart, but somehow the last day and a 
half Mulder had felt like the past ten years had nearly 
been washed away.  He hoped Scully felt the same.

"I was thinking about you and me and William.  I was 
thinking about that first night we had him home after 
Georgia and the hospital.  You asked me to marry you," she 
said, sounding almost wistful, not sad.

He shifted on the boulder.  "I guess twelve years is a 
pretty long engagement, isn't it Scully?" he said.  "It 
might be difficult finding a priest to perform the 
ceremony.  Maybe Liam could do it.  He could pronounce us 
husband and wife in the name of the Serpent King," he 
rambled.  He knew he was being flippant, but couldn't stop 
himself.  He'd been caught off guard and wasn't sure where 
she was going with this line of conversation.  Luckily, she 
didn't seem angry.  

"I don't want to get married, Mulder," she said, not 
looking at him, still looking out to the vast space in 
front of them.

"You don't?"

She sighed.  "I did.  Part of me still does, but so much 
has changed." She said, sounding tired, but not sad. 

What she really meant was that they had changed.  In truth, 
he had nearly forgotten he had once proposed to her.  That 
had been a moment of such contentment, of such perfect 
bliss, that it had seemed like the right thing to do at the 
time.  It was spontaneous and seemed to fit in with the new 
life they believed they were beginning.  But he wondered if 
domesticity was ever what they had been meant for.  
Clearly, it hadn't worked out that way.  It seemed that 
pure happiness was only a fleeting moment for them, left at 
the wayside while they fought the good fight and chased 
after conspiracies.  It wasn't fair, but such was their lot 
in life and they had accepted it.  

He thought they had.  

The past ten years they'd drifted from each other -- their 
respective touchstones.  Maybe they had convinced 
themselves they could not have what they wanted, or what 
they deserved.  

"I love you, Scully," he said, though it hadn't been what 
he wanted to say.

She looked at him, smiled.  Her blue eyes reflected the 
rising sun, nearly blinding him.  "I love you too, Mulder," 
she said, turning back to watch the last bit of the night 
fade into the horizon.  

He watched, too.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Kayenta Valley,
December 23, 2012
7:14 am

Her shoulder ached, her neck was stiff and her back 
screamed.  Sleeping on the rock floor of the Canyon City 
hideout reminded Monica why she rarely went camping and 
why, when she did, she always brought an air mattress and a 
battery powered pump.  She pulled herself to a sitting 
position, exhaling a muffled groan in the process.  The 
cave was quiet.  The floor was covered with people, most of 
them still asleep.  Someone in a far corner snored lightly.  
Apparently, even Alien Replicants needed their rest.

The previous night had been terrifying.  No one had yet 
opened the doors to the cave, but during the attack it had 
sounded and felt like the aliens had dropped the entire US 
arsenal of bombs on them in a matter of minutes and then 
scurried onto the next target.  The whole thing had lasted 
less than twenty minutes.  Somehow, everyone was present 
and accounted for.  As far as she knew, nobody had so much 
as a scratch.  

"You're right, not a scratch," came a gentle voice from 
behind her.  Monica twisted her body around and looked up 
for the voice's source.  Jeremiah Smith stood there, 
smiling warmly.  "Though, your John twisted his ankle, but 
I doubt you'll get him to admit it."

"Good morning," Monica said, still in mild disbelief.

Jeremiah lowered himself to the cave's floor and crossed 
his legs to sit.  "You're wondering if I'm the same person 
you met in Montana all those years ago," he said in his 
calm manner.  

Monica nodded.  "I thought the aliens had taken you away to 
kill you," she said.

"They took me away, but it wasn't the first time they'd 
tried to silence me," he said.  "Their trouble was they 
didn't want to kill me."

"Why not?" Monica asked.  "You had asked for our 
protection."

"Protection from capture, yes, but not from death," he said 
and smiled from the corner of his mouth.  "I'm somewhat of 
a rarity among my species."

"Your species?  Then you are an alien?"  

"Yes, but that's not what we call ourselves, of course."

"What do you call yourselves?" Monica asked, fascinated.

"It depends on whom you ask.  Among ourselves, we have a 
name, but I cannot pronounce it in this form."

"This form?  You mean, human form?" 

Jeremiah nodded.  Expressionless, he said, "Those of my 
race who rule collectively call themselves your God."

"But not you," Monica said.  "Is that why you're here?"

"Much like the human race, we also fight among ourselves 
and disagree about our role in the universe," he said.  "I, 
like many others, don't believe any race, whether more 
powerful or not, has the right to exterminate another, even 
if they did give that race life."  

"Are you God?" Monica asked, not sure what she hoped the 
answer would be.

"How do you define God?  If I go to a place that has never 
seen life, and pieces of my genetic material are left 
behind, if some years later a new form of life evolves from 
that, am I that lifeform's God?  I am essentially its 
creator, but what of my creator?"

"Are you saying that mankind evolved from aliens, but that 
a more powerful God does exist?"

Jeremiah did not answer, but he raised his eyebrows 
slightly.  Monica felt a heavy silence fill the space.  She 
had never been particularly religious herself.  She always 
thought of herself as open to anything, but never committed 
to any one particular dogma.  If what Jeremiah Smith was 
saying was true, and she had no reason to doubt him, then 
she had just learned the answers to the questions man has 
been asking since he first became self-aware.  Who am I and 
where did I come from?  

"I thought that was you talking," John said, his voice 
still froggy from sleep.  Jeremiah and Monica looked up to 
see him.  He scratched his head and yawned.  "I still can't 
believe I fell asleep at all."

Monica stood up, noticing that John was leaning a little 
more heavily on his left foot, but she did not mention it.  
Jeremiah stood, too.  

"Do you suppose they're gone for good," John asked.

"They're gone for now," Jeremiah answered.  "I think its 
safe enough to leave the cave.  But as long as you are 
here, they will probably return."

"Why us?" John asked.  

"You're human.  They're only looking for you right now.  
They'll deal with us later," he said.  "For now, that is 
the plan.  They fear they may still need us."

"So, me, Monica, Joy and Gibson are the only people the 
aliens care about here?" John said, flippantly.  "Seems 
like a hell of a lot of trouble for just four small human 
beings."

"Two, actually," Jeremiah said.  "Gibson and Joy are 
essentially the same as Aiden and the others.  Not exactly 
alike, but close enough for the Grays."

"Jeremiah, you said that you are a rarity among your 
species," Monica said.  Jeremiah nodded.  "What did you 
mean?"

"Most of my people are deathly allergic to high 
concentrations of iron, or certain compounds of iron.  I am 
not.  Its one of the reasons I've been among humans for so 
long.  I was sent to be studied and to do the work of those 
who could not."

More and more, the cave was filling with voices and the 
sounds of movement as the inhabitants slowly woke up.  
Monica glanced over to the spot where Joy and Gibson had 
passed out.  Joy was still sound asleep, but Gibson was 
sitting up, rubbing his eyes.

Jeremiah placed his hand on Monica's shoulder and gently 
squeezed.  "There will be time to answer all of your 
questions later.  Right now, we have a camp to clean up.  
It's a new day."

He walked away, saying good morning to people as he passed 
them.  

"It is a new day.  That's what worries me," John said, 
shifting his weight and grimacing noticeably.  

"Let's start this day with you getting off that foot," 
Monica said, putting her hand on John's shoulder and 
guiding him to the ground.

"Monica, my foot is fine," he said, but Monica put two 
fingers to his lips, stopping him from saying more.  

"It's a new day, John.  Let's take advantage of it."

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Southwestern, United States
December 23, 2012
11:39 am

All Scully could think about was the Super Soldier; more 
specifically, about what had killed him.  The five of them 
had been wandering around their makeshift campsite for the 
better part of the morning, finding insignificant tasks to 
keep themselves busy, but hardly speaking to one another at 
all.  Mulder had brought them to this place hoping to find 
something that would put them on a path to action.  They 
had found something, but not the answers to any of their 
questions.  

She walked alone, still within sight of the others, picking 
up small, dry sticks to use for firewood.  In her mind, she 
catalogued the evidence and tried to fill in the gaps.  In 
the past three days, she had seen two dead Super Soldiers 
that she knew of.  One had died right in front of her.  In 
both cases, William had been nearby.  If she didn't know 
better, she might think that William killed the man Liam 
had called Warrick, which was a crazy thought.  William had 
not even touched him, and as far as Scully knew, the only 
thing that could kill a Super Soldier was iron, and lots of 
it.

Before they arrived, Mulder's theory had been that Liam's 
camp would be in a place surrounded by rocks saturated with 
iron.  He believed Liam's camp would be protected from the 
aliens and the Plague because of it.  Scully did not claim 
to be a geologist, but as far as she could tell, iron-
saturated rocks did not describe the current landscape, 
which had more of a brown tint to it, not the red-paint 
look she'd seen all those years ago near the home of Albert 
Hosteen.  They were not in Navajo or Hopi Indian territory.  
They were not in Anasazi country.  Not yet.

Scully looked up towards the mid-day sun.  It was winter; 
it couldn't be any more than fifty degrees, but the sky was 
clear and blue and the sun felt wonderfully warm.  She 
closed her eyes, basking.  If she hadn't managed to have 
found some dry ice at the sporting goods store in Colorado 
Springs, the sun would not have relaxed her as much as it 
did.  Scully wasn't sure if they would still need it, but 
without a source to keep the vials cold, her Mesabi Ferrum 
serum would go bad.  It had been three days since she and 
Mulder had taken an injection and two days since the serum 
had saved Rob Van de Kamp's life.  There was no way to know 
if they might still need more of it.  There was no way to 
know if the virus had finished its business, or if it was 
simply waiting for them to weaken before it had its way 
with them once and for all.

She thought it strange, but the serum she had spent most of 
the past decade developing had thus far played a relatively 
minor role in her mind since Colonization began.  Aside 
from saving Rob, which Scully regarded as very significant, 
she had nearly forgotten about the stuff.  She had 
developed the serum to stop Colonization.  She had failed 
there, but she had also developed it so that even if 
Colonization could not be stopped, she could at least save 
the people she loved.  She could find William and save him.  

William hadn't needed saving after all.  Not from the alien 
virus.  William was immune. 

This fact, if she could call a theory that she had not yet 
scientifically proven a fact, gnawed at her.  She felt like 
she was on the cusp of something, but couldn't figure out 
what.  

She heard the shuffling of shoes on gravel behind her.  
Scully spun around quickly, still anxious from the previous 
day's events. 

"I'm sorry.  I thought I could help," William said.  He had 
a slightly frightened look on his face, like he thought she 
might reach for her gun, and that made Scully's heart ache.  
"It's boring over there."  He jerked his head in the 
direction of the truck and the two little tents.  

"I'd like that, William," Scully said, smiling, relaxing a 
little.

"Will."

"I'm sorry?"

"It's Will.  Nobody calls me William, except when I'm in 
trouble anyway.  Everyone calls me Will," he said, not 
making eye contact with her as he bent down to pick up a 
few pieces of wood.  

"Oh," she said, not knowing what else to say.  That was 
just one more thing she didn't know about him.  When she'd 
named him, she had always intended to call him Will.  Her 
father and Mulder's father had both been Bill.  She wanted 
to give her son his own identity, at least as much as 
possible while naming him after someone else.  Somehow, 
'William' had always rolled off her tongue more easily.  
Sometimes she'd called him Willy, but imagined that would 
eventually transition into Will as he grew up. 

"Mulder calls you Scully," he said, matter of factly.  

"Yes, he does.  It's an old habit," she said.

"From when you were FBI agents?" William asked.

"How did you know about that?"  

William shrugged and there was a long pause as he bent 
down, picked up another stick, inspected it and threw it 
aside.  He stood back up and met her eyes.  "You're my 
mother, aren't you?"  He was not accusatory.  He did not 
speak with much emotion at all, though Scully barely 
noticed.  She was too busy dropping the cluster of sticks 
she had gathered and staring at him with her mouth gaping 
open.

William filled the silence.  "I know I'm right.  I don't 
totally get it, but I know it's true.  I hear it in your 
head.  He's my father, too.  Isn't he?  You're my real 
parents."

Scully felt frozen.  She tried to work her tongue, to say 
something, but from between her brain and her mouth, the 
words got lost.  She found herself trying to think of a way 
to hide the truth, like the kind of lie you tell a child 
when you want to protect him from danger.  *The dog's not 
dead, she's only sleeping.*  It was her instinct to shield 
him from the truth, which had a certain irony to it 
considering the quest she and Mulder had been on for a 
lifetime.  Finally, once the circuits reformed in her mind, 
and her tongue could move, she said the only thing she 
could say.

"Yes, I am your mother.  Mulder is your father.  You are 
our son."

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
 
Rob had been ignoring Mulder all day long.  Both men busied 
themselves with semi-useful tasks, like taking inventory of 
the water supply and counting extra tent stakes.  
Occasionally, when they would cross each other's path, Rob 
would grumble and Mulder would move aside.  Since nobody 
yet had any reasonable idea about what the group should do 
next, and since Mulder and Rob had run out of items to 
count, gather or fix, both of them, along with Liam, sat 
near the little fire they'd built, each as far from the 
other as they could be and still be in a circle.  Mulder 
whittled a stick to a point with a pocket knife he'd 
liberated from the sporting goods store in Colorado 
Springs, Liam stared into the flames, and Rob poked a stick 
into the fire in between glances over his shoulder to check 
on William.  William sat on a boulder next to Scully.  
They'd been talking for a while, but they were too far away 
for either Rob or Mulder to hear what the conversation was 
about.

"They're just talking," Mulder said, sounding like a whiney 
teenager even to himself.  

"I know that," Rob said, creasing his forehead, and 
twisting back around to face the fire.  

"She's not going to hurt him," Mulder said, not able to 
help himself.  He liked Rob.  He really did, but the past 
day the man had been like a pebble in Mulder's shoe, 
grating, impossible to shake loose.

"I know that, too," Rob said, sounding equally petulant.  
Mulder got the feeling that Rob felt the same way about 
him.

The three men were quiet for several minutes.  Finally, Rob 
broke the lull.

"Mulder?  Can I ask you something?" Rob asked.  

Mulder lifted his head up and nodded.  "Sure."

"How did that guy know who you and Dana were?  The man from 
yesterday?  He said something about your pictures."

Mulder lifted his shoulders and took in a quick breath, 
releasing it just as quickly.  "I guess you could say 
Scully and I were fairly well known in some circles."

"Well known?  I thought you were FBI agents.  Aren't you 
supposed to be low-key or something?"

"You would think," Mulder said.

"Look," Rob said, putting the stick he was using to poke 
the red coals buried within the fire down on the ground 
near his feet.  "I think I deserve an answer.  I know 
you're the good guys.  I know you're not going to hurt me 
or William, at least not intentionally, but you're not 
telling me everything."

"Rob, I've told you everything you've wanted to know.  
You're just not listening," Mulder said, sighing.

"The hell I'm not.  I just wish you'd stop sounding like a 
lunatic.  Like him," he said, jerking a thumb in Liam's 
direction.  Liam looked up, and smirked.  He'd been very 
quiet since Warrick had burst into flames, which relieved 
everyone.

"At least he has a clue about what's happening, even if 
he's misguided," Mulder said, raising his voice slightly.  
"Ask him.  Never mind, I'll ask him."  Mulder turned to 
face Liam.  "Your pal, the guy who eats bullets for dinner, 
he's an alien, right?  Tell him," Mulder said, swinging an 
arm towards Rob.

"That's essentially true," Liam said, softly.  "But I 
didn't know that until yesterday."

"Essentially true?" Rob asked, mockingly.  

"He was half human and half alien, a hybrid, created to 
help the aliens bring in the Fifth Age of Man when man and 
Gray would live together in peace on Earth," Liam said, 
like he was quoting scripture.

"You wanted me to listen to him?" Rob asked, throwing up 
his hands.  "You want me to believe that not only are there 
aliens and that is the reason for what's happening, but 
that the aliens have also created half-human, half-alien 
creatures to bring an end to mankind?"

"He might have things backwards, but he knows the basics," 
Mulder said.  "How do *you* explain everything that's 
happened?"

"Mr. Mulder, I'm a simple guy.  I went to Sunday school 
every week when I was growing up, and I took my family to 
church every Sunday as an adult.  I can't say I ever 
thought I'd live to see it, but," Rob took a deep breath.  
The incredulousness left him, and his tone sobered, "I 
think this is Armageddon.  It's the end time, the 
Apocalypse, and God is finally calling the righteous home."

"And you find that easier to believe than aliens?"

Rob sighed and shook his head.  "Maybe I don't.  But maybe 
I want to believe it, because otherwise none of this makes 
sense and my Susan dying was meaningless."  

Mulder bit on the inside of his lower lip.  "Rob, I'm sorry 
about your wife.  I really am."

Rob nodded and looked up, smiling joylessly.  "Me too," he 
said, taking in a shaky deep breath.  "What about you two?"

"Hmm?"

"You and Dana.  What's your story?"

Mulder laughed.  He should have written a novel.  Even 
then, he'd never be able to do justice to reality.  "Well, 
you know, the normal story, I guess.  Met at the FBI when 
she was assigned, unknowingly, to spy on me for a group of 
men involved in a conspiracy with aliens against humanity, 
fell in love, had a kid, became fugitives from justice 
after trying to expose said conspiracy and met up with all 
of you during the pre-determined time of alien 
Colonization.  The normal boy meets girl story."  Mulder 
laughed, lost in his own summation of Scully and his life 
together, not realizing what he'd just said.

"A son or a daughter?" Rob asked, smiling with Mulder.

"Excuse me?"

"Do you have a son or a daughter?  You said you had a kid, 
so..."

"Oh," Mulder said, his smile fading.  Oops.  "We have a 
son."

Rob looked down and Mulder knew what question was on his 
mind.

"I know in my heart he's doing just fine," Mulder said, 
answering before Rob could ask.

Rob seemed satisfied with that answer, perhaps not wanting 
to press Mulder on his son's probable fate, one that was 
likely very similar to Susan's.  "I'm sure you're right.  
Well, I guess I'll make myself useful and whip us all up 
some sandwiches."  Rob slapped his hands on his thighs and 
stood up.

"Need a hand?" Mulder asked.

"No, thanks.  It'll give me something to do," Rob said.  He 
walked back around the truck, out of Mulder's view.  

Mulder turned his head towards Liam.  "So, know any good 
jokes?"

"Aside from the one played on me?" Liam said.  Mulder was 
surprised.  It was the first normal sounding sentence he'd 
heard from the man since they'd met.  Not very funny, but 
normal.

"You really didn't know your friend was a Super Soldier, 
did you?" It was more of a statement than a question.  Liam 
simply shook his head.

"Either of them," Liam said.  Off Mulder's look, he 
continued.  "The man I traveled with to the Van de Kamp's 
house was apparently also an alien."  Liam lowered his head 
and cupped his face in his hands, resting his elbows on his 
knees.  "I think everything has gone to hell."

"You got that right," Mulder said absently.   His thoughts 
were stuck on Liam's traveling companion.  That made two 
Super Soldiers from Liam's cult who had died; one in 
William's presence and the other at his house.  Mulder 
hadn't asked, but he'd be willing to bet that William had 
been near to that one as well when it died, just like he'd 
been near Warrick.  

That was very interesting.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

"My mom and dad told me I was adopted when I was little," 
William said.  He sat next to Scully on a boulder near the 
spot where they had been picking up firewood.  Her knees 
felt a little weakened shortly after William had told her 
he knew she was his mother.  Luckily, she'd managed to make 
it to the boulder before her knees gave out altogether.  
She listened as William spoke, simultaneously diagnosing 
herself with mild shock.  "Even before they told me, I 
think I knew."

William pushed a stone around on the ground with his toe.  
Scully finally cleared the cobwebs in her mind and asked, 
"How did you know?"

"I dreamed about you," he said, like he thought she should 
know that, but not sounding upset.  

"You dreamed about me?" she asked, sounding desperate to 
her own ears and feeling tears she did not want sting her 
dry eyes.  William nodded emphatically.  

"I didn't recognize either of you when I first saw you in 
my parent's bedroom, but I knew you looked familiar, you 
know?" he said.  "I knew it was true when I heard you 
inside your head."  William looked down, embarrassed.  Like 
he'd told a secret and was afraid she would laugh at him or 
scold him.  

"It's true then?  You can read my mind?" Scully asked.  She 
had a sudden flash of another twelve year old boy she'd 
once known who could read minds.  She couldn't believe she 
hadn't noticed it sooner, but William reminded her of 
Gibson Praise.  He was quiet, kept inside himself, but 
wasn't afraid to call people on the contradictions between 
what they thought and what they said.  He seemed older than 
his actual age.  

"Yeah, but my dad doesn't believe me," William said, 
finally sounding like the eleven-year old he was. 

"I'm sure he just doesn't understand, William.  Sorry... 
Will," she said, smiling, trying to sound supportive.  

"I know.  Are you and Mulder going to take me away from him 
now?" William asked, concerned.

"What?  No, Will.  We just want to make sure you're safe," 
she said, looking away from him, towards the horizon, 
knowing he could probably hear the half truth in his head, 
but not sure what else to say.  "Besides, it looks like we 
might all be stuck together for a while now, anyway."

They were quiet for a few moments.  Finally, William spoke.  
He sounded younger than usual.  "You can't hear my 
thoughts, can you?"

Scully turned her head towards him, and shook her head.  
"No, I can't."

"I always hoped my real parents were like me," he said, 
looking at his feet.  "Then maybe I wouldn't feel like such 
a freak."  He pronounced 'freak' sharply and kicked the 
stone he'd been toeing away.  It rolled to the edge of a 
cliff and skittered over.

Scully felt like he'd kicked her instead of that rock.  She 
should have been there for him.  Maybe she couldn't read 
his mind, but she would have believed him.  She would have 
understood, maybe not what he was feeling, but that he was 
unique.  

"I miss her," William said.  "My mom.  I think she would 
like you."  Scully opened her mouth, but couldn't find any 
words.  She hoped he could pull them from her mind and know 
how touched she was that he would say such a thing to her.  
The last thing she wanted was for William to think she 
wanted to take his mother's place and force herself into 
the role of his mother.  She knew she would need to earn 
that, if it was even possible.  William stood up, twisting 
around towards the truck.  "My dad needs me."   


"Hey Will?  Come over here for a minute," Rob shouted from 
behind the truck.  William smiled, more of a shy smirk, and 
then he walked away as Scully watched.  

Mulder passed William on his way towards her.  She stood 
up, taking his outstretched hand, smiling up at him.  

"Are you okay?" he asked, concern behind his eyes.

"I'm fine.  No really, I am, Mulder.  I'm good.  Will and I 
just had a good talk," she said.

"About what?"  He asked, squeezing her hand gently.

"About his real parents," she said.  "About us."

^^^^^^^^^

Washington, DC
December 23, 2012
1:13 pm EST

Tom Davis walked alone down the center of a very deserted 
Pennsylvania Avenue.  It was deserted of life, though the 
street was far from clear.  Stalled cars littered it from 
curb to curb. Some were empty; their drivers having decided 
there was no time to waste in traffic.  Some cars had 
become their driver's coffins, and Tom smelled the 
beginnings of what would become a horrific stench if clean-
up crews didn't set to work soon.  Empty federal buildings 
lined the edges of the street from Freedom Plaza at Tom's 
back to the alabaster Capitol of the former United States 
of America in front of him.  Tom had once loved this view.  
One of his favorite stories was of President Lincoln 
insisting, even in the midst of the Civil War, on 
continuing construction of the Capitol's dome.  Now the 
same Union that Lincoln had fought so hard for, had given 
his life to preserve, was gone.

Tom passed the Old Post Office, an imposing Victorian-style 
stone building with a church-like steeple constructed in 
the last year of the nineteenth century before the 
federalist architectural trend took complete hold of the 
city's consciousness.  The structure was Washington's first 
skyscraper, and was still one of the city's tallest 
buildings.  He went inside, and with the building lacking a 
Parks Service employee to escort him, Tom rode the elevator 
alone.  

From the top of the tower, Tom could see for miles in every 
direction.  Without modern skyscrapers, the view of the 
District was unobstructed.  To the north, atop a hill stood 
the National Cathedral.  To the south, beyond the 
Washington Monument, across the Potomac River in Virginia, 
was the Pentagon.  Inside the tower, things felt normal.  
He imagined it was a Saturday afternoon.  There would be 
few cars on the streets, most Federal employees would be 
home and most tourists would be on foot, having taken the 
Metro into town, or having walked from their hotels.  

Though he could fool his eyes, Tom could not fool his mind.  
The voices of the people that should be on the streets and 
inside the buildings were silent.  He heard the occasional 
voice of a Colonist facilitator, like himself.  He even 
heard the voice of a human survivor from time to time, but 
the constant radio chatter he normally experienced was 
gone.  He felt like throwing himself off the tower, and 
probably would have, if he thought it would do anything to 
him.  It would merely hurt.

He'd been thinking all day about Christian and what the boy 
had allowed Tom to see from his mind.  He'd come downtown 
to get away from others on the Project.  He didn't want to 
accidentally allow them to hear what was going on inside 
his mind.  He'd become adept at controlling his thoughts, 
though The Twelve usually cracked their way inside his mind 
anyway.  But it would only take one careless moment, and he 
would destroy any chance there was of a possible 
resistance.  

Resistance.  

The word bounced around inside his mind and was amplified 
between his ears.  He was considering helping a resistance 
that hadn't even begun.  A resistance against his 
superiors, against those who now held all the power in the 
world.  It was futile.  It was insane.

Tom looked out towards the Pentagon again and squinted.  He 
couldn't see it, but he knew that fifty miles away above 
the Blue Ridge Mountains in Virginia a ship hovered.  He 
didn't know the English word for it, there really wasn't 
one, but Tom had been a fan of science fiction when he was 
younger, so he thought of it as the Mother Ship.  That 
wasn't quite accurate.  There were five such circular ships 
hovering over the United States alone and more than fifty 
worldwide.  They were enormous -- most were more than 
thirty miles in diameter.  Inside all of them were 
colonists waiting for him to give the go ahead, to tell 
them that his vaccine was ready and to begin the 
inoculations protecting them from "ferrum poisoning."  

Inside those ships was God.  The Apocalypse was all around 
him and he'd been granted safe passage into Heaven, yet Tom 
had decided to convert to a new religion.

The thought made him feel alive again for the first time 
since he'd lost his humanity.  He had made a decision.  He 
was going to stop this invasion from going any further, or 
die trying.

It would probably be the latter.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

PART FOUR
CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Southwestern, United States
December 23, 2012
4:48 p.m.

"You want to do what?" Rob nearly shouted.

"I need to take a sample of Will's blood," Scully said.  
Mulder stood beside her, wanting Rob to understand it was 
two against one.  Three if they counted William.

"What for?" Rob asked.  He'd been using a hatchet to chop 
up pieces of wood into manageable sizes, and he stood in 
front of them still holding it, waving it as he gestured.  
Mulder decided that he and Scully had very bad timing.

"I have a theory and I need a sample to test it," Scully 
answered.  She was as calm as Rob was wound up.  

"We're in the middle of no where!" Rob said, swinging the 
arm with the hatchet wildly, luckily away from them, but a 
little too dramatic for Mulder's liking.

"I'll just take that," Mulder said, snatching the hatchet 
from Rob before Rob had a chance to blink.  He stood for a 
moment with his hand still curled around the handle that 
was no longer there.

"I have the equipment I need for the test I want to 
perform," Scully said.  She and Mulder had discussed this 
very confrontation a few hours ago, shortly after she had 
told Mulder that William knew they were his real parents.  

Mulder hadn't been surprised William had figured it out.  
He had suspected William had known for a while, at least 
subconsciously.  Mulder was surprised William had admitted 
it, though.  The boy had been so withdrawn, especially 
around Scully.  Nevertheless, Mulder felt tremendous relief 
that everything was finally out in the open.  Almost out in 
the open.  Rob still had no idea and Mulder had no clue how 
to tell him.  And if Rob's latest rant about not letting 
Scully take a little blood sample from William was any 
indication, when they finally did lay the whole truth on 
Rob, it wouldn't go well.

"I don't want you to get anywhere near Will with any kind 
of needle, knife or other weapon," Rob said.

"Dad, she's a doctor," William said, surprising all of the 
adults for a moment.  They didn't know he had been 
listening, which of course was stupid, Mulder thought, 
since he could read all of their minds.  His ability was 
the reason Scully had approached Rob about it in the first 
place.  William had volunteered.

"Stay out of this, Will," Rob said.

"But dad, it's my --"

"Will, I want you to go sit over there."  Rob swung his arm 
around and pointed towards the campfire.  

William sighed heavily, clearly frustrated.  "You never 
listen to me," he said as he walked a few feet away to sit 
next to Liam near the fire.  Liam listened to the adults 
debate each other with about as much interest as one might 
watch the evening news.  


"Rob, this is important.  He'll be fine.  He wants to do 
this.  Ask him," Mulder said. 

It was important.  Scully had a theory, and though it was 
not yet fully formed, there was little time to waste.  
After a day of having nothing to do, they might finally be 
on to some kind of a plan.  After Scully had told Mulder 
that William knew who they were, they had swapped ideas and 
discussed their options.  Of course that was after they had 
held each other, shared a brief kiss, wiped a few happy 
tears, and laughed.  Then Scully had said to Mulder, 
"There's more."

"Of course there is," Mulder had said without sarcasm. 

**She looked up at him, smirking playfully.  "I've been 
thinking a lot about what happened yesterday with Will and 
the Super Soldier."

"Me too."

"Mulder, as far as we know, only one thing can kill a Super 
Soldier."

"Iron," he said, nodding.

"Or other compounds of iron, like magnetite."

"Scully," he said, jumping in before she could continue.  
"I know I told you before we came here that I thought this 
place would be surrounded by iron deposits, but it looks 
like I was wrong.  Whatever killed that thing wasn't iron.  
Now don't roll your eyes at me, Scully, but I think it was 
William."  He braced himself internally for her rebuttal.

"Will," she said and the corners of her mouth twitched as 
she tried to control a smile.

"Excuse me?" Mulder asked, not expecting that to be her 
response.

"He likes to be called Will, not William," she said, not 
holding back the full smile anymore.  "And I agree with 
you."

"About what?"  He'd forgotten what he'd said when she 
hadn't disagreed with him and given him a verbal tongue 
lashing for having an outrageous idea about their son. 

"I have a crazy theory of my own here, Mulder," Scully 
said.  

"I just got chills," he said, his voice was even, without 
inflection, but his eyes gave him away.  He felt like he 
had stepped back in time for a moment.  If he closed his 
eyes, he might be able to convince himself that they were 
on a field assignment or in some small town police station.   
He rarely let her know it, but he loved hearing her 
theories.  Sometimes they were crazy; her need to 
rationalize, maintain a sense of scientific logic, often 
took her in the opposite direction from his own intuition, 
but her ideas were always brilliant and she conveyed them 
with such confidence, whether she ignored the obvious or 
not.  He tried not to let her know that, however.     

He couldn't be certain, but he thought that she felt that 
jump to the past, too.  She took a deep breath.  "I have 
absolutely no proof, but what if the magnetite injection 
Jeffrey Spender gave Will when he was a baby increased the 
amount of iron in his blood?  The ER doctor told me that 
night that the only thing abnormal she could find was an 
elevated iron level."  Her smile faded a little.  William's 
trip to the emergency room had been shortly before Scully 
had given him up for adoption.  She had told Mulder what 
had happened, but only the cold facts.  They'd never 
discussed the emotions behind the decision that had changed 
the lives of four of the people in this little band of 
survivors so drastically.  They should have discussed their 
feelings, but even without verbalizing them, Mulder knew 
that her decision to give William up had torn Scully apart 
and wracked her with guilt, just as he was aware that 
Scully knew a part of him hadn't forgiven her for it.  

"And you think that has something to do with old Warrick 
spontaneously combusting?" Mulder asked.  

Scully nodded.  "What if that magnetite injection altered 
his blood somehow?"

"How?" he asked, curiously.  

"I don't know, but I think if I can get a sample of his 
blood, I might be able to figure it out."

"If anyone can figure this out, it's you," Mulder said, 
squeezing her shoulder reassuringly.  

"I doubt Rob will agree."

"Who cares?"  Mulder asked, sounding a little more petulant 
than he meant to.  

"Mulder, we have to ask him if it's okay.  He's Will's dad.  
Plus, Will might not want to go through with it.  We had a 
good talk, but I think I still scare him a little.  And 
needles can be scary even for adults," she said, poking 
Mulder in the arm.  

Okay, so he had a slight needle phobia.

"I don't mind needles," William said, startling both of 
them.  Mulder and Scully jumped in unison and turned around 
to see William standing a few feet away.  "Sorry, I have a 
bad habit of doing that.  I was trying not to listen, but 
you kept saying my name."

"It's okay, Will.  Dana has a bad habit of intentionally 
traumatizing me," Mulder said, but the joke fell a little 
flat, and Mulder laughed nervously.  "How much did you 
catch?"

"You can take my blood.  Sounds kind of cool," William 
said.  "I'll tell my dad its okay."

"Are you sure?  I don't want to do anything that makes you 
uncomfortable," Scully said.  

William shrugged.  "No, it's okay.  I know what I have to 
do," he said, a little too cryptically.  "Sometimes saving 
the world makes you bleed."  Mulder and Scully looked at 
him, both unsure how to respond, both slightly shocked and 
unnerved.  Then William's stoic, emotionless face slowly 
developed a closed mouth grin, which finally became a full-
on, toothy smile that would rival the Cheshire Cat.  

Mulder and Scully would be wise not to underestimate this 
one, their son.  After all, he had their own blood running 
through his veins.  God help them all.**

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

William poked a long stick into the flickering embers of 
the campfire.  He sat alone.  Liam had gone off somewhere 
by himself.  William could hear him, but paid little 
attention.  His dad, Mulder and Dana had stopped arguing a 
few minutes earlier; all retreating to their own corners, 
licking their wounds, with his dad winning that round.  
William had made up his mind that he was going to let Dana 
do what she needed to do regardless of his dad's wishes.  
He wanted to face his destiny.  He wasn't sure what Dana 
would find, and part of him was afraid to find it, but like 
it or not, he was special and it was time to stop being a 
baby and quit hiding from the truth.  

He just wished he could make his dad understand.

"Careful with that stick, Will.  Don't hurt yourself," his 
dad said, startling him.  It wasn't often someone sneaked 
up on William, but he found the fire mesmerizing and he had 
relaxed, losing himself in the flames, shutting out the 
rest of the world.  This must be what normal people hear, 
or don't hear, he thought.

"I'm not a baby," William said, sounding a little like one 
in spite of himself.  

His dad sighed and William could hear the remorse in his 
father's head.  "I know you're not, son.  Sometimes I 
forget just how big you're getting.  I still think of you 
as my baby boy."  Rob sat down next to William, but William 
did not look up.  "And with all that's happened... your mom 
and everything.  I guess I just get scared that I will lose 
you." 

"I miss her, too," William said.  His dad put his arm 
around him for a brief one-armed hug and then pulled back, 
thinking that William might not like the contact.  William 
felt guilty.  He knew his dad had been confused about his 
behavior, not just during the past few days, but over the 
past few months, even years.  Since William had begun 
having his dreams, which he now believed had been the truth 
embedded within his imagination, he'd changed.  He'd tried 
to tell his parents about the dreams, really tell them, but 
he knew they would not understand.  Worse, he thought they 
might think he was crazy.  He'd withdrawn from his mom and 
dad, but he still loved them.  Even if his dad *was* being 
an ass about letting Dana draw his blood.  "I miss her, 
dad, but Dana and Mulder just want to help.  I'm going to 
let her do the test."

"What did they say to you?" his father asked sternly.

"Nothing that I didn't already know," William said.  "You 
can't protect me from who I am."

His dad crinkled his brow.  William sensed the confusion in 
his father's mind.  "You're my son.  As long as that's the 
case, I will do everything I can to protect you."

William heard something else in his father's mind.  He was 
getting quite adept at pushing away the guilt he usually 
felt at invading a person's private thoughts, but this 
thought caught William off-guard.  "You're planning on 
running away?" 

His father's eyes widened and William knew he was right.  
"How did you guess?"

"How many times can I tell you?  Dana and Mulder believe 
me.  I know you know what I'm talking about.  We can't 
leave them.  We can't!"  William said, standing up and 
throwing the stick into the fire completely, sending up a 
little burst of sparks.  

"Will, I don't think it's safe for us to be with them any 
longer.  Besides, I thought--"

"I know what you're thinking even when you don't.  They 
understand that.  I'm not a normal kid and I'm not your 
son!" 

William ran away past the truck, towards the outcropping of 
boulders where he and Dana had talked earlier.   

"Will!  Come back here," he heard his father shout.  He was 
still within view of his dad, but he needed to be away from 
him.  As soon as the words had left his mouth, William felt 
guilt rise up his throat like bile.  Sometimes he wished 
everyone else could read his mind.  Things would be so much 
easier and he would never have to apologize.  He slumped 
down against the boulder, sitting on the cold dirt, his 
back to the fire and his father.  What was he going to do 
now?  How could he do what he needed to do when his dad 
refused to understand who he was and what he was capable 
of?  True, he was only beginning to admit the full scope of 
his abilities to himself, but he was only a kid.  

He pulled his knees up to his chest, crossed his arms over 
them, and put his head down.  At least if he couldn't keep 
himself from crying, he could keep anyone else from seeing 
his tears.

^^^^^^^

"What was that about?" Mulder asked, watching William run 
away from Rob.  "What did you say to him?"

"Mulder, can't you just mind your own business for once?" 
Rob said, sounding tired.  "I need to talk to my son."  Rob 
started towards William, but Mulder grabbed his arm.

"Just let him cool down.  He's okay.  We can see him from 
here."  Rob didn't even protest.  He sighed and slumped 
back down, sitting on a rock they'd been using as a 
campfire stool.  Mulder sat, too.  The two men sat silently 
for a moment and Mulder wondered what William had told Rob.  
He'd heard William say something to the effect that he was 
not Rob's son, but hadn't heard anything else.  Mulder 
wondered if William had told his father who their two crazy 
traveling companions actually were, and he found himself 
hoping William had.  

Rob inhaled deeply and let his breath out quickly.  "Will's 
adopted," Rob said simply.

"Oh?" Mulder said, hoping he sounded casual even though his 
entire body had frozen, and hoping Rob would continue.

"Yeah.  He's known about it for most of his life and it's 
never really been an issue.  I don't know if it's just the 
stress of losing his mother, or of everything that's going 
on, but I think it's bothering him right now," Rob said.  
He was looking at the ground.  He sat slumped over with his 
elbows on his knees and his face cradled in his hands.  

"Why do you think it's bothering him now in particular?"

"I don't know.  Just something he said," Rob said, looking 
defeated.  He was quiet for a moment, and Mulder thought 
Rob had said all he was going to say.  "Susan and I were so 
happy when they brought him to us."

Mulder blinked, his eyes shifted nervously between Rob and 
the fire and his own feet.  He wondered if it was possible 
to hyperventilate from overly exerting one's eyeballs.  
He'd wondered before, but suddenly the need to know 
everything about William's childhood overwhelmed him.  He 
wanted to know every detail, and yet he wanted to know 
nothing at all.  He didn't want it to be another man 
telling him about his son's life.  Another man who didn't 
know who Mulder was.  Rather than tell that to Rob, Mulder 
stayed silent.  

"We'd been trying for years but nothing worked.  So, we 
decided on adoption, but even that didn't seem to be 
working out.  We were ready to give up and withdraw our 
names from the list when we got the call.  It all happened 
so suddenly.  Less than a week after the social worker 
called us, they brought him to our door.  He was perfect, 
everything we had hoped for.  Mulder, are you okay?"  

Rob was staring at him and Mulder felt moisture around his 
eyes.  He hadn't realized, but he was crying.  He wiped his 
eyes with his fingers and dried them on his jeans.  "Yeah, 
I'm fine.  Is it dry out here?  It seems dry," he 
deflected.  Part of him wanted to ask Rob to wait for 
Scully.  They should hear this together.  Another more 
selfish part of him wanted this moment just for himself.  
Scully had been the one to send William to the Van de 
Kamps.  Maybe if he listened to Rob's story, Mulder might 
gain the semblance of control he always wished he'd had 
over the circumstances of William's adoption.  "Go on."  

"I'm sorry.  If this is too hard for you.  I mean, your son 
--" Rob said.  

Mulder shook his head.  "No, it's okay. I think I just got 
an ash in my eye, or something."  Rob smirked, but he 
seemed to accept that for an answer, probably just to let 
Mulder off the hook and not press him about something he 
didn't want to talk about.  "Did you ever know anything 
about his birth parents?  Did you ever meet them?"  It 
seemed like a logical next question for two strangers who 
did not share the same son.  

"No.  We were just told that his mother was single and 
couldn't take care of him."  Rob laughed softly.  "I 
remember Susan was so worried there might be something 
wrong with him."

"Why?"

"There was some question about his medical history, but the 
funny thing is, I don't think there's ever been a healthier 
kid than Will.  Even when he'd hurt himself playing he 
always healed amazingly fast.  I think she just had the 
jitters about being a new mom."  Rob's voice hitched a 
little on the word "mom."  He coughed, clearing his throat.  
"What kind of test does she want to do?"

"Excuse me?"  Mulder asked, momentarily forgetting where he 
was, still trying to picture William as a baby, 
experiencing his first tooth, his first steps, his first 
words.  "Oh, the test.  I'm not exactly sure.  She's the 
scientist.  I do know that I trust her.  I know that she 
would never want to hurt Will."

Rob let out a breath and lowered his head, tucking his chin 
into his chest and raising his hand to his forehead like it 
hurt.  "Okay, I'll think about it.  There's no hurry is 
there?"  

"I guess that depends on what she finds."

^^^^^^^^^^

"We keep meeting here," Scully said, trying to sound light.

William looked up, his arms were still crossed over his 
knees.  His brow was knotted and he wiped his eyes, looking 
away from her, embarrassed.

Seeing his tears, Scully asked, "Are you okay, sweetie?"  
She bent down to a squat and touched his shoulder.

"Fine," he sniffed.

"I see."  She sat down next to William on the hard dirt 
ground.  William kept his face turned away from her and 
didn't speak.  Scully wanted to comfort him, but was unsure 
how.  She still barely knew him.  "Well, I'm here if you 
want to talk."  She pulled her knees up to her chest, and 
crossed her arms over them, copying William's position.  

Her mind drifted to a time when she had been hurting when 
she was a child.  She had been playing in the woods with 
her brothers, shooting at sticks and tin cans with a pellet 
gun.  They'd found a snake and her shot had killed it, 
filling her with horrible guilt and remorse.  She'd been 
inconsolable for days, but her mother had tried to comfort 
her.  She had told her that there were consequences for her 
actions and that she had responsibility in life, but most 
of all she had told her she loved her and was there to 
listen.  Scully wished her mother was here now to help her 
help her son.  She wondered if her mother was even alive.

"Did you used to sing to me?"  

"What?" 

"I think I remember you singing, but I'm not sure if it's 
from real life or the dreams," William said, his voice 
slightly scratchy, but his eyes had cleared.  

"I used to sing to you every now and then," Scully said.  
"Not very well, though."

William smiled and Scully felt like she'd been rewarded 
with a million dollars in pure gold.  

"What were your dreams about?" Scully asked self 
indulgently, and William's smile faded.  She wanted to kick 
herself.

"Lots of things.  You and Mulder.  What's happening.  The 
others."

"What others?"

"Other kids.  I don't know all their names," he said, 
shaking his head.  "They told me they would help, but I 
don't think I can do this.  I don't want to do this."

"What don't you want to do, Will?  If you mean the test, 
you don't have to.  I don't want to hurt you."

"No!  I have to.  I don't want to but I have to.  So do 
you," he said.

"I don't understand," Scully said, feeling more than a 
little concerned. 

"I know where we need to go," he said standing up.  "There 
are others.  I know where they are."  William kicked a 
stone with his foot, just as he had earlier, but this time 
instead of falling off the edge of the cliff, the stone 
shot straight out and stopped, suspended in the air, 
completely still.  William twisted his upper body around 
and looked at her, not surprised by what he had done.  She 
couldn't look away from the stone, but just as quickly as 
it had moved when he'd kicked it, the stone fell straight 
down into the canyon below.  

She looked at William.  She was aware of her mouth gaping 
open, but she couldn't seem to close it.  "They need us," 
he said.  Then he held out his hand to her.  

She took it.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^ 

Kayenta Valley
December 23, 2012
4:02 p.m.

Monica felt filthy.  Today was clean-up day and she'd spent 
most of it helping the rest of Canyon City clean up after 
the alien bombardment.  Monica was sure that a layer of 
soot an inch thick was coating her skin.  Surprisingly, 
when they'd arrived the previous day, she'd been able to 
take a shower.  The people here had organized an amazing 
camp, complete with an area for taking generator powered 
and heated water showers.  But that was now a distant 
memory.    

What was also surprising was that the camp was not in as 
bad a shape as they'd all expected.  Several campers and 
RV's were burned out and the biggest tragedy had been the 
loss of the shower area, but all in all, they'd been lucky.  
Most of the residents would probably have to sleep in the 
caves from now on, but they had a well stocked cache of 
blankets and sleeping bags and other extra supplies.  Not a 
single person had lost their life, which was a true 
miracle.  Though Monica wondered just how many people here 
could die.  She suspected only herself, John and Gibson 
were so easily killed.

She carried a load of rubble to an area at the edge of the 
encampment where everyone was depositing debris.  Sitting 
on the ground with their legs crossed away from the 
commotion of the cleanup effort were Joy, Gibson, Aiden and 
Jeremiah Smith.  They all had their eyes closed, and didn't 
speak at all.  Not verbally, anyway.  Monica hesitated, not 
wanting to interrupt them, but too curious to stop herself.  
She dropped her load of burned camper siding, brushed her 
hands off on her jeans and walked over to them.

When she was a few feet away, Jeremiah opened one eye and 
smiled.  "We were just talking about you," he said in his 
typically mild, fatherly manner.

"Oh?"

He opened both eyes and the other three followed suit.  
Jeremiah nodded.  "Joy was telling me about your time with 
her.  How you helped her escape from the laboratory."

Monica looked down, her shoulders slumped.  "I had some 
help," she said.

"Joy doesn't blame you for her mother's death.  You need to 
let your guilt go," he said.

Monica tensed, looking nervously to Joy.  She didn't want 
to discuss Pattie's death in front of Joy and upset her.  
Jeremiah smiled sympathetically, and waved his hand over 
the ground near him, indicating he wanted her to sit.  
"Please."  Monica complied and lowered herself to the 
ground, crossing her legs Indian style and fidgeting.  "I 
know it makes you uncomfortable to discuss it, but it 
wouldn't matter if we walked to the other end of the camp 
to talk.  Joy would still be able to hear us.  She's very 
gifted."

"I guess you're right," Monica said.  "My natural instinct 
is to protect her."  Monica looked to Joy, who smiled with 
closed lips.  To Joy, she said, "And you've been so quiet, 
sweetie.  I'm not sure what you're thinking most of the 
time.  I don't have your abilities."  

Joy turned her head to Jeremiah, who looked at her and 
nodded.  "She wants you to know that she's not ready to 
speak yet, but that she is thankful for everything you've 
done and that she is not as fragile as you think she is."

"I'll try to keep that in mind," Monica said.  "So, what 
were the four of you talking about?"

"We were trying to figure out what to do next," Gibson 
said.

"There are other survivors," Aiden said.

"Other survivors?  You mean survivors of the Plague?" 
Monica asked.  "How many do you think there are?"

Jeremiah closed his eyes, and leaned his head back 
slightly, lifting his face upwards like he was basking in 
the sun.  He inhaled deeply, letting his breath out slowly.  
"Thousands.  Maybe hundreds of thousands.  Maybe millions."  
He opened his eyes, looking at Monica.

"That's quite a range," Monica said.

"They said the Plague would infect and kill ninety percent 
of the population.  From that number, the Grays have been 
executing millions per day," Aiden said.  "They send search 
and destroy parties out like the one that came here 
yesterday."

"Is there anything we can do?  How can we possibly fight 
this?" Monica asked.

"All is not yet lost.  You almost succeeded in stopping 
Colonization when you rescued Joy," Jeremiah said.  "Didn't 
you know that?"  Monica shook her head, confused.  "Without 
her and the other children like her, the Grays could not 
set one foot on the earth."

"But you are a Gray, aren't you?"

"He doesn't have an iron allergy.  There aren't many like 
him," Gibson said.  "Monica, they told me that the 
experiments on Joy involved creating a vaccine that allowed 
the Grays to inoculate themselves from the allergy.  
Without the twelve Level A Hybrids like Joy, the Grays will 
die here."

Monica stood up.  "I don't believe this.  I was there.  I 
should have tried harder to rescue all of the children.  
This is my fault," she said, throwing her hands up in the 
air and walking a few steps away from the rest of them.  

"You couldn't have known.  You did the best you could do," 
Gibson said.  "You did more than most people."

"This Colonization has been planned for a very long time," 
Jeremiah said, standing up.  "I don't think anything would 
have prevented the Plague from being unleashed.  It just 
might have taken longer for the Grays to actually set foot 
on earth.  They have convinced themselves they are your 
God.  That kind of hubris is not easily stopped."

"Then it is hopeless," Monica said, possibly for the first 
time completely feeling the weight of what had happened.  

"It's not hopeless.  There is one who may be able to stop 
it all.  That is what we are doing here now," Jeremiah 
said.

"I don't understand," Monica said.

"We are trying to send a message and find the boy called 
William."

^^^^^^^^^

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Kayenta Valley
December 23, 2012
6:13 pm

He would give anything in the world for some ice.  
Doggett's ankle had swelled up to the size of a small 
cantaloupe and had become increasingly stiff as the day had 
progressed.  He couldn't even remember how he had hurt 
himself and that's what pissed him off the most.  He felt 
useless.  He wanted to help with the clean up, wanted to do 
something to keep his mind occupied, but he eventually had 
to admit defeat and give his ankle a rest.

Sort of.  Maybe he couldn't carry heavy objects but he 
could try to fix a water pump.  Monica had been looking 
longingly at the demolished shower all day, so he thought 
he might be able to provide her some comfort.  

"John, I told you to stay off that foot," Monica said from 
behind him.

He turned around gimpishly on one foot.  "Monica, I said 
I'm fine.  Stop being such a mother hen."  She barely 
seemed like she'd heard him, and the color in her face had 
drained out.  "Monica, you look sick.  Are you okay 
yourself?"

"Yeah," she said, shook her head.  "No, not really," she 
admitted, still dazed.

"What's wrong?" Doggett asked, putting one hand on her 
shoulder and lifting her chin up with the fingertips of his 
other.  He felt his heart racing as if a starting gun had 
just fired.

She smiled and her eyes cleared.  "I'm not sick, John.  I'm 
okay physically.  It's you I'm worried about.  Sit down and 
I'll tell you what I just learned."  She guided him towards 
a large,  overturned plastic bucket, forcing him to sit.  
He wanted to object, but his ankle wouldn't allow him to 
make an escape.

Monica knelt on the ground and cupped the heel of his 
injured foot.  She untied his bootlace and gently pulled 
the boot off, taking his sock with it.  

"Monica, really," he protested.

"Shh," she said, smoothing her hand over his ankle, pushing 
up his pant leg.  She pressed her thumb gently over a 
large, red and puffy spot on his ankle.

"Ouch!" he said, flinching, unable to help it.

"Sorry."

"Monica, you're great at many things, but you're no 
doctor," he teased, partly to deflect the tingling 
sensation her massage was generating in his stomach.  It 
wasn't working.

"God, you're right about that.  You know, John, you should 
have Jeremiah take a look at this.  He's brought people 
back from the dead.  I doubt a sprained ankle will be much 
trouble for him," she said, her hands continued to lightly 
rub the skin from his ankle to his lower calf.

"Monica, there was never any proof he raised anyone from 
the dead," Doggett said, barely hearing himself speak.  He 
focused mostly on her hands, though he did hear the soft 
chuffing noise she made.  "What?"

Monica shook her head.  "Nothing, but I just heard 
something that might turn even you into a believer, John."

"Monica," he started, stopped.  He took a small breath, 
organizing his words.  "Just so you don't think I'm a 
completely blinded, close-minded ass, I do believe he's an 
alien."

Monica looked up at him, wide-eyed, grinning from ear to 
ear.

"What?"

"I can't help it.  It's not very often I get to hear John 
Doggett admit to the existence of aliens *and* I meet God 
all on the same day."

"I don't follow," he said, feeling a knot form above the 
bridge of his nose.

"I'll explain later.  What I want to tell you now is even 
bigger than that, at least in the near term."

She rolled his pant leg back down, but left his sock off.  
He felt a little sad at the loss of contact.  Monica stood 
up and dusted off her jeans.  She sat down again near him 
on the stone ring which circled the water pump, facing him 
at his level. 

"Bigger than meeting God?"

Monica nodded, her face growing serious, but still 
maintaining a faint glow of awe.  To Doggett she looked 
slightly stoned.  "They just contacted William," she said, 
pointing in the direction of Aiden, Gibson, Jeremiah Smith 
and Joy, who all still sat in their circle on the edge of 
camp.

"William?" he asked, not knowing who she meant at first.  
Then as it dawned on him, he raised his eyebrows.  
"William?  Mulder and Scully's William?  Their son?"

Monica nodded.  She sat forward, resting her elbows on her 
knees.

"Their son William?" he asked again in disbelief.   "The 
son given up for adoption?"

"That's the one," she said.  "Far out, isn't it?"

"That's one way to describe it.  Monica, first of all, what 
does William have to do with any of this and second of all, 
how and why did they contact him, and how do we even know 
he's alive?"

"That's a third of all," she smiled.  

"I'm serious," Doggett said, irritated.

Monica's expression grew serious again and she looked him 
in the eye as she touched his forearm.  "So am I," she 
said.  He nodded, understanding and willing to listen to 
her.  "It all makes sense, John."

"Oh?"

She stood up and started to pace a few feet in either 
direction as she spoke.  "Yeah.  You heard Aiden when I 
told him I delivered William.  He was awestruck.  For a 
moment, I felt like I was the Pope.  We had it wrong when 
he was born.  They weren't trying to take him from Dana, 
they were trying to make sure he was born safely."

"You make it sound like he's Jesus Christ," Doggett said, 
laughing softly.

"I think he is."

"Monica --"

"I don't mean he's actually Jesus Christ.  But I think he 
might be comparable.  I can tell you this, even when he was 
a baby, he was special.  Dana thought something was wrong 
with him, but I think she was just afraid."

"Afraid of her son?"

Monica became more animated as she spoke.  "No, afraid of 
what his specialness, for lack of a real word, would mean 
for him.  For his life.  John, William could move objects 
with his mind.  He was being sought by all sides of this 
fight.  The Super Soldiers, the Alien Replicants like 
Aiden, the Grays, the Rebels.  All of them believe he's the 
key to something.  I think he might be our chance to fight 
back.  Maybe even to win."

"How?  He's just a kid.  He must be only ten, eleven years 
old now."

"I think he's like Joy and Gibson, only more somehow.  He's 
the missing link."

"Monica, we don't know where he is, or if he's alive.  The 
Plague --" he started, looking down, lowering his voice.

"He's alive, John.  He's on his way here."

Doggett shook his head.  "I don't understand," he said 
slowly, exasperated.

"Joy spoke with him inside her mind.  I was just over there 
with them.  William gave her a message."

"What did he say?  They're hee-eere?" Doggett said, in a 
pretty decent imitation of Heather O'Rourke in Poltergeist.

"No.  He told her, we're coming."

^^^^^^^^

Southwestern United States
December 24, 2012
3:42 am

He felt her breathing change from the slow and even pace of 
deep, sated sleep to the moderate and irregular motion of 
restless wakefulness.  His arms were wrapped around her 
bare body possessively and he tightened his embrace 
slightly.  

"You're thinking again," Mulder said, breathy and soft, his 
lips brushing lightly over her ear as he spoke.  She'd been 
thinking earlier, and when he'd asked her what was the 
matter, rather than telling him, she made love to him, 
cocooned within the dome of their tent.  It was their first 
time in ages and it felt wonderful, yet he didn't want them 
to fall back into old patterns.

"How can you tell?" she asked, on the edge of sleep again, 
her voice drowsy and sedated.

"I can see smoke," he said.  Her body shook with her soft 
laughter, and so did his.  He kissed her temple and felt 
her exhale.  "Are you going to make me get a confession out 
of you, or what?"

"Forced confessions are rarely upheld in court these days," 
she said playfully.  "Besides Mulder, when did you ever get 
a confession out of anyone?"

He twisted around so that she was on her back and he 
hovered over her, his face close to hers.  "You're changing 
the subject, Agent Scully," he growled.

Mulder watched her try, but Scully couldn't stop a smile 
from bubbling up to the surface of her face.  She wrapped 
her arms around his neck, her fingers roamed through the 
short hairs at the base of his skull, making him shiver.  
"I thought we were on this subject," she said, pulling him 
down for a long, deep, languid kiss.  

"You make a strong argument," he said, pulling back 
slightly to look into her eyes, "but I'm trained in the art 
of interrogation and diversion techniques.  It'll take a 
bit more than that to flip me."

"Like this?"  And then she was over him, straddling him, 
pinning his shoulders to the sleeping bag-covered tent 
floor, the top sleeping bag draped over her body.  They 
both laughed out loud.  Scully put three fingers softly 
over Mulder's lips.  "Shhh," she said, barely able to say 
even that between snorts.  She leaned down, kissed his neck 
open-mouthed and his hands wandered over her back.  

She was winning this round.

"Scully?" 

"Hmm?" she asked as her lips tugged on his earlobe, then 
the spot where his jaw met his neck.

"Scully, I think we need to talk," he said, panting, 
chastising himself, wishing his rational mind would fall 
off of a cliff and leave him the hell alone for now.

"So talk," she said, between swipes of her tongue over his 
Adam's apple.  "I love your voice."

"I thought you tuned my rambling out most of the time," he 
gasped, barely able to form a coherent thought.

"Maybe I tuned out *what* you were saying, but I always 
listened to your voice."  She pressed feather light kisses 
up the underside of his chin, until she met his lips, 
briefly lingering there before continuing up his cheek and 
over each eyelid, leaving a wet trail along his face.

"And, I thought you loved me for my mind," he said, not 
even comprehending what he was saying anymore.

"I love you in spite of your mind," she teased.  He smiled, 
and ran his fingers through her hair, pulling her back to 
his mouth.

Game over.  He could accept defeat if it meant feeling this 
good.

She placed her elbows on either side of his head, the full 
length of her body was pressed against his, hot flesh 
against hot flesh.  Their lips and tongues fought for 
dominance over the other, both taking turns finding it.  He 
twisted them around again, taking control as he gently 
rocked into her.

"Oh God," she gasped and he felt her fingernails press into 
the skin of his back as her legs wrapped around his waist.  

"Scully," he exhaled more than spoke.  He began to move, 
slowly at first, then his pace quickened as their mutual 
need for release grew more urgent.  He heard her mumble 
unintelligible words into his ear and then she was shaking.  
Moments later, his own climax, starting from somewhere deep 
in his belly and radiating outward to his toes... his hands... 
his skull, rushed over him.  "Fuck!"

As their breathing slowed, she placed feather light kisses 
along his brow where his damp hair met his forehead.  She 
massaged his scalp with her fingertips and he rolled to his 
back, pulling her with him, wrapping his arms around her 
body, covering her with the discarded top sleeping bag.  
They were quiet for several moments and Mulder thought she 
may have drifted off.  

"I love all of those sophisticated words you learned at 
Oxford," she said, teasing him for his orgasmic 
pronouncement, sounding as if her tongue was partially 
paralyzed.

"You *do* love me for my mind.  I knew it."

"Mmmm."  He knew she was nearly asleep. 

"Good thing we pitched our tent away from the others.  I'm 
not used to censoring myself while in the throws of 
passion, yet.  I wouldn't want to scar Will before he gets 
to know us better."

"Mulder, Will's telepathic."

"Oh, shit."  He knew that.  

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Washington DC
December 24, 2012
9:12 am

The man, a toothpick firmly lodged between his teeth, 
stomped down the hallway away from Tom Davis' office 
towards his own.  He was not happy.  Davis was supposed to 
have submitted a report giving the final go ahead on his 
vaccine at seven-thirty.  It was already after nine o'clock 
and hundreds of thousands of Colonists were waiting for 
inoculations so that they could begin their arrival on the 
planet's surface.  The Toothpick Man knew it was his ass on 
the line if anything went wrong.  He was responsible for 
Davis, a fact that had worried him since Davis had come 
onto the project.  There had been too much mutiny already, 
and although Davis had claimed he was loyal to his makers -
- the Grays -- the Toothpick Man had seen too many 
similarities between his genetically superior subordinate 
and the other Alien Replicants -- most of whom had sided 
with the humans -- and the alien traitors such as Jeremiah 
Smith.  

The Toothpick Man rarely felt anxiety anymore.  It was one 
of many human weaknesses stripped away from him when he'd 
been made into what he was now.  However, if he were not 
mistaken, anxiety was what he felt.  Though Colonization 
had officially begun on the preordained date of December 
22, 2012, the Colonists wanted it completed by the New 
Year.  "Completion" meant the first group of Pilgrims could 
land on earth safely and most of the human survivors would 
be eradicated.  It was an arbitrary date, but good place to 
begin the new age.   

His office door had barely stopped shaking from him 
slamming it shut when there was a strong knock against it, 
too confident to be Davis.  Sometimes he wished he were 
telepathic like the Level A and B Hybrids.  It pissed him 
off that his own group, the most loyal to the Grays, seemed 
to be the most defective, while traitors like Davis's kind 
were almost considered pure Gray by those in power.

"Come!" Toothpick Man growled, removing his tie and 
throwing it on his desk where it landed softly, not making 
the impact his mood warranted.  He'd be lucky if he had any 
furniture left when this day finally ended.

Claire threw open the door and walked inside, scowling as 
much as he was and sounding just as pissed.  "I can't find 
him anywhere.  Nobody has seen him since yesterday as far 
as I can tell."

"God damn it!  Send out the troops.  I want that son of a 
bitch back here before noon," he said, smacking his hand 
down hard on his desk, knocking the telephone off of its 
cradle.

"They're already out, but the only troops available are 
Gammas," she said cooly, crossing her arms.

"So?" he said, his arms out wide, using his best 
intimidation voice and laser stare.  It usually turned 
Davis into a pile of sludge, but seemed to have little 
effect on Claire.  Now she was a Beta Hybrid he could get 
behind, in more ways than one.

"So," she said, mimicking him, "as you know, Gamma Hybrids 
are not telepathic and Tom, a Beta Hybrid, is.  It's easier 
for him to hide when he knows where they're looking.  Plus 
he's had at least a twelve hour head start.  He's superior 
in every respect." 


She was a bitch, but the Toothpick Man admired her.  He 
gritted his teeth and forced a joyless smile that looked 
more like a grimace.  "There are thousands of Colonists who 
are superior to *him* floating in the sky above us.  Are 
you telling me *they* can't find him either?"  

"You want me to alert the Gray leaders to the fact that the 
man who holds the key to their survival on this planet is 
missing and that you lost him?  That the Colonization of 
earth, an event planned for thousands of years, is in 
jeopardy because you can't find one man?"  She spoke 
without emotion, her tone was cold.

His smile faded.  "No, I don't."

"I thought not," she said, sounding a little too much like 
she was in charge instead of him.  "There is one more thing 
you should know."  

"And what is that?" he asked, not really caring. The day 
couldn't get much worse.

"The Twelve, or rather the Eleven... they're missing too."

"Jesus Christ!  Why didn't you tell me that when you first 
came in?" he bellowed.  He couldn't stop himself, but he 
sounded desperate and shrill to his own ears.  He 
definitely felt anxiety.  "Where the hell are they?"

"I think they're with him," she said, sounding small for 
the first time.  She lowered her head, losing her smug 
superior aura and sighed.  "Tom freed the children.  If we 
can't find them, we're fucked."

He surprised himself, but he felt laughter bubbling up from 
deep within his gut, finally spilling over his lips.  He 
inhaled deeply, unable to supply his outburst with enough 
oxygen to sustain it, yet his hysteria would not subside.  
He clutched his stomach, bent over his desk.

Claire stared at him with wide eyes and a crinkled brow.  
"Have you gone completely insane?"  That only made him 
laugh harder.  After a moment, he finally caught his breath 
enough to spit out a complete sentence.

"That, my dear, is an understatement."

^^^^^^^^^^^

Southwestern United States
December 24, 2012
1:33 pm

Mulder stretched his arms high above his head and yawned 
deeply.  He was beat.  The rhythmic whir of the gas pump 
churning, pouring gas into the truck's tank, was putting 
him to sleep standing up.  They'd been on the road since 
dawn and he hadn't gotten much sleep during the night.  He 
was grateful that the gas station they'd stumbled upon 
still had power, so they hadn't needed to perform the 
siphoning dance they'd perfected.  However, ever since the 
incident with the Snake Man, they'd spent nearly forty-five 
minutes scouring the surrounding area for surviving 
strangers before attempting anything like pumping gasoline 
or replenishing their supplies.  And William was never 
allowed out of sight of at least one adult, not including 
Liam, at any given time.  

At the moment, Mulder had watch, though Rob was never very 
far away.  William used a squeegee to clean the truck's 
filthy windows.  He seemed to be in better spirits than he 
had been the previous day or so.  He hummed a tune Mulder 
didn't recognize as he wiped the windows, yet there was 
still an aura of melancholy that perpetually surrounded 
him.

"How's the arm?" Mulder asked, nodding to the small Band 
Aid-covered puncture mark near the inside of William's left 
elbow.

William shrugged, but smiled.  "Barely felt a thing."  Rob 
had finally allowed Scully to draw William's blood, but so 
far she'd only been able to conduct a quick, relatively 
unscientific, test.  She'd placed a small vial of William's 
blood near what remained of the dead Super Soldier, which 
had caused the creature's charred body to shake and smolder 
once again.  But they'd had to leave camp before she was 
able to do any more detailed testing, so the samples 
remained in the dry ice coolers with her Mesabi Ferrum 
serum.  

"You're braver than me," Mulder said as the pump clicked 
off and he pulled it out of the truck's tank.
 
William looked up at Mulder inquisitively, looking like he 
wanted to say something, but not sure if he should.  Mulder 
screwed the cap back on the tank and walked a step closer 
to William.  He ruffled the boy's hair and smiled, hoping 
he looked reassuring rather than worried.

"What's on your mind?  Worried about the tests?"

William shook his head.  "I -- I was just wondering if 
you're afraid of the aliens," he said softly, almost 
whispering, "because of what they did to you?  That's why 
you don't like needles, isn't it?"  

Mulder was a little surprised by the question, but he was 
learning to expect the unexpected when it came to his son.

"I've never liked needles, but my experience on the alien 
ship didn't help me get over that fear," he said, deciding 
to avoid pretense.  There was something both unsettling and 
cathartic about being such an open book to someone, 
especially a boy as young as William.  

"Are you still afraid?"

Mulder considered carefully for a moment.  He had certainly 
felt something when he'd first seen the ship hovering near 
the Van de Kamp's house, and it had not been a pleasant 
sensation.  Most of the memories of his abduction came in 
short flashes or dreamlike fluid swirls, and were more like 
a feeling than an image.  Sometimes he felt afraid, but 
mostly he felt anger about all that had happened.  Not only 
to him, but to Scully and to his family -- his son.  "Yes, 
but mostly because I want you to be safe."

"I'm safer than you are," William said.  "They won't hurt 
me.  At least not yet."

"At the place we're going, do they want to hurt us?" Mulder 
asked, alarmed.  William had been able to tell them very 
few details about where he was directing them to go.  The 
previous evening William had told Scully and Mulder that 
there was a group of survivors calling to him in his dreams 
and sending him signals in his mind, that they needed his 
help.  As usual, Rob had been against their leaving, but 
when given the choice of being left alone in the canyon of 
Liam's destroyed camp, or riding with Mulder, Scully, Liam 
and William, he'd agreed to come along.  William had been 
guiding them to their destination in a complicated version 
of the Hot/Cold game.

"No, I told you, they're friends.  I've dreamed about them, 
just like I dreamed about you and Dana."  

"Then why are you afraid, Will?"  He hadn't said he was, 
but Mulder could read it in William's face.

"Because I don't want to fail."  He finished one last swipe 
of the windows and put the squeegee back in the bucket of 
fluid between the gas pumps, where it made a soft splash.  

"Will, no matter what happens, you never have to worry 
about failing.  You let Dana and I worry about all of that 
stuff," Mulder said, smiling.  "Okay?"

"Okay," William said, unconvincingly.  

"Hey," Mulder said, his face brightening, hoping the idea 
that popped into his mind would help to cheer William up, 
or at least take his mind off of the mission they had just 
begun.  Their new quest.  "I know you brought your baseball 
glove and I think I saw one in the station's manager's 
office.  We have a little time.  Do you want to play catch 
for a bit?"

William looked up at him, and Mulder saw a spark in his 
eyes.  He nodded.

"Go get your glove and I'll be right back," Mulder said, 
ruffling William's hair once more.

A few minutes later, when Mulder returned, Rob and William 
were standing a few feet away from the truck near an 
abandoned car.  William was gesturing wildly and Rob 
gripped William's arm tightly.  They were difficult to 
hear, but Mulder thought he heard Rob tell William to get 
in the car now.

"Hey!  Hey!" Mulder shouted, running towards them.  "What's 
going on?"

Upon hearing the commotion, Scully and Liam quickly came 
running to the scene as well.

"I'm not leaving them, dad!" William shouted.

"Let him go, Rob!" Mulder said.

"What's going on?" Scully asked, breathless.

"Will and I are leaving," Rob said.  "I wish you all good 
luck on wherever it is you're going, but we're not 
following you."

"Rob, don't be a fool.  Where do you plan on going?" Mulder 
asked.

"I don't know.  I only know that intentionally or not, you 
three are dangerous.  Get in the car, Will."

"No," William said.  He broke free of Rob's grip and ran 
towards the truck, behind but close to Mulder and Scully.  
Rob's whole body slumped, he looked like he'd been slapped.

"He doesn't want to go with you," Mulder said.

"It doesn't matter what he wants.  He's just a little boy.  
I'm his father, not you Mulder!"

"Fine, then be his father and think of what's best for 
him," Mulder said.  "The world has changed, Rob.  It's not 
anything like it was before.  It never will be again.  Our 
only chance is to stay together."
 
Rob looked at the baseball glove Mulder held, and then he 
looked to William holding his own glove.

"Fine.  You win," he said, sighing.  "But I'm driving this 
shift.  No arguments.  You look like hell, Mulder."  Rob 
walked past all of them, to the driver's side of the truck 
and got inside.  The remaining four stood motionless for a 
few moments, not entirely sure what had just happened, 
looking at each other.

"All right, then.  Time to go," Mulder said.  And they 
went.

^^^^^^^^

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN


Washington DC
Spring 2001
Late Evening

Scully threw her keys on the kitchen table, and they slid a 
few feet on the smooth, hard wood before coming to a stop.  
Her apartment was dark.  She stood with her back to him, 
unable to face him.  Her breath hitched involuntarily.  She 
wasn't sure if she was going to burst into tears or punch 
him in the stomach for putting her through this latest 
adventure.

She had just gotten him back.  Something she could only 
have believed in her dreams had come true.  Mulder was 
alive.

"Scully, you know I had to try," he said, sounding 
somewhere between remorseful and smug.

Scully pursed her lips together and looked up at nothing on 
the ceiling, pleading silently to the light fixture gods to 
help her to not cry.  Damn the pregnancy-induced hormones.  
For the past several months she had felt so out of control 
and *little* things like Mulder's abduction, death and 
resurrection had only been kindling for her already out of 
balance emotions.

"Scully?"  

She felt him move a step closer to her.

She took a deep breath, exhaled it slowly.  Not knowing 
what else to do with her hands, she put them on her hips.  
"Mulder, I can't go through that again," she said shakily.

"Through what again?" he asked, seeming genuinely 
perplexed, which made her already frayed nerves do 
summersaults.

She turned to face him, furrowing her brow in disbelief 
that he would ask such a thing.  "You dying, Mulder."

He actually laughed.  It was a soft, almost patronizing 
chuckle, but it was a laugh.  "I didn't die this time.  I'm 
fine.  I'm standing right here."  Her face remained 
serious; his smile faded.  "Scully, I'm still the same 
person I was before.  Aside from a few more scars, I 
haven't changed.  I thought you better than anybody would 
understand that."

"I do understand that, Mulder and that's why I'm 
terrified," she said.  The tears she'd been holding back 
finally spilled down her cheeks.  "But *I* have changed.  
*Things* have changed."  She placed her hand over her 
pregnant belly and Mulder's gaze followed.

They stood uncomfortably silent in the dark room for what 
was probably only seconds, but to Scully it felt like eons.  
So far, Mulder had given her his congratulations, a forced 
smile and awkward glances, but they had yet to really 
discuss the child growing inside her and what that meant 
for them together.  She had tried, but his own terrifying 
experiences were enough for him to deal with at the moment.  

"Scully, I don't expect you to follow me on these -- 
investigations.  I know you have more to think about right 
now.  I know how much that baby means to you," Mulder said, 
less confident than he had been earlier, glancing away.

"What about what this baby means to you, Mulder?" she said.  
"It's been a week since you found out about this baby and 
you've barely said more than a full sentence about it and 
when you do, it's always how happy you are for me."  She 
hadn't wanted to say these things to him, not in this way, 
but the stress of the past six months overwhelmed her.  The 
fear and pain, the joy and guilt and the despair that she 
had tried to hold inside of herself spilled over her lips, 
hitting him square in the chest.  "The very same day that I 
lost you, I found out about this baby.  I was so happy, yet 
in agony because you were gone.  The person I wanted to 
share this with the most had been taken from me.  Then, 
after searching for you, only to find you dead...  Mulder, I 
watched them lower your coffin into the ground.  I threw 
dirt over it.  The only thing keeping me standing was this 
baby, because I knew it was my only lasting link to you.  I 
wanted to make sure this child knew its father."

Mulder's only reaction was a barely audible, "What?"  And 
he blinked.  Twice.

"I said I wanted our baby to know its father," she said, 
unsure exactly which part of her speech he was referring 
to.  "I -- I want our baby to know you."

"Our baby?" he said, still staring with vacant eyes.

"Yes," she said simply. 

"This is our baby?" 

"Yes," she said, like she was speaking to a slow child.  
Then realization hit her, "Oh my god, you didn't know, did 
you?"

He shook his head slowly back and forth.  He spoke like his 
tongue was slightly paralyzed, or like he was mildly 
intoxicated.  "I thought that you tried again.  That maybe 
you tried the IVF again and it finally worked."  

"No," she said, softly.  She never thought for a minute 
that he would reach that conclusion.  She'd been in such a 
rush to tell him that she was pregnant before he saw for 
himself, that she hadn't thought to tell him he was the 
father.  The paternity of her baby had never been a fact 
she had questioned, so she'd assumed he wouldn't either.  
Now that she understood he'd misinterpreted the situation, 
his coldness, his aloof behavior since he'd found out about 
her pregnancy all made perfect sense.

"But how?" he asked, stepping closer to her, still keeping 
a couple of feet away.

She smirked.  "Birds and the bees and the monkey babies, 
Mulder," she said, her voice rough and thick with some 
emotion she couldn't quite name.

He smiled at the memory.  "But we only... I mean, we," he 
started.  He shifted his feet uncomfortably, and Scully was 
somewhat amused that he was so nervous discussing their 
brief sexual history together considering the extensive 
video collection he'd amassed over the years.  Not to 
mention the fact that he hadn't been the least bit shy 
during their mere handful of intimate encounters prior to 
his abduction.  He cleared his throat and changed tacks.  
"Scully, you were incapable of conceiving."

"So they said.  I guess they were wrong."

"But you went to several specialists.  I know you reviewed 
the reports yourself.  I discovered what they did to you," 
he said.

"I can't explain it, Mulder.  It doesn't change the facts.  
We conceived this child.  I'm sorry I wasn't clear about 
that when I told you in the first place.  I never guessed 
you'd think I would try without you." 

"I knew how important having a child was to you.  I know 
how hurt you were when it failed."

She had been hurt.  When she'd first asked Mulder to help 
her conceive a child they had been partners in every sense 
of the term except physically.  If he had declined her 
request, she would not have pursued another donor, yet it 
took failure and several months beyond that for her to 
realize it hadn't merely been a child she had wanted 
desperately, but a child with Mulder.  She'd never told him 
that.  When he'd been abducted, they'd only begun exploring 
the full scope of their feelings for each other.  Neither 
of them had ever been very good at baring their souls and 
laying their hearts open for the other to see.  It took 
losing him for her to realize just how foolish she had been 
and how much time she had wasted.  She didn't want to make 
the same mistake again now that she had him back.

She also didn't want him getting himself killed for good 
this time.

"Mulder," she started, stepping closer to him.  She reached 
for his hand and lightly alternated her fingers over his.  
"I was devastated when the IVF didn't take, but that was a 
sliver in my finger compared to what I felt when I lost 
you.  Do you understand that?"

Mulder looked at their entwined fingers, and she watched 
his eyes flicker over her stomach.  With both of hers, she 
placed Mulder's hand over her belly, wondering if she was 
pushing him too far too quickly.  She couldn't muster up 
the courage to look into his eyes at the same time.  "I 
know this is a shock, Mulder.  I know it's not what you 
signed up for.  I don't expect anything from you, and I 
wouldn't blame you if you ran through that door right now, 
but I was hoping that maybe we could do this together.  
Just like we always do?"  She inhaled quickly and when he 
didn't respond, a million butterflies took flight at once 
inside her.  "Mulder?"  His hand was still over her belly 
and she finally allowed herself to glance up at his face.  
He had the slightest hint of a smile on his lips, and his 
eyes sparkled, though Scully thought she saw the beginnings 
of tears forming.  His face was peaceful and awestruck. He 
met her eyes with his own.

"I'd like that, Scully," he answered simply, smiling more 
broadly.  "I'd like that a lot."

She hoped he meant that part about them doing it together 
and not the part where he ran through the door.  She took 
the fact that his feet hadn't moved an inch as a good sign 
and didn't tempt providence again.  Maybe they both could 
begin to heal.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Kayenta Valley
December 24, 2012
6:15 pm

Perhaps it was the power of suggestion -- it was Christmas 
Eve after all -- but Monica was sure that the brilliant, 
blue star she had observed for the past few hours was 
coming closer and closer to camp.  It fascinated her, 
mesmerized her, until it dawned on her that the *star* 
could be less a miraculous object, and more a machine 
designed for destruction -- specifically her destruction 
and what was left of mankind.

Aside from the noise of cleaning up and the preparation of 
dinner, Canyon City had been quiet since the attack.  She 
knew she shouldn't, but until the realization of what the 
blue light could be hit her, Monica felt the same sense of 
peace she had felt when they'd first arrived with Aiden a 
couple of days earlier.  Change was in the air.  Good 
change or bad change, she wasn't sure.

Monica heard the unmistakable limping footsteps of John on 
the gravel behind her.  She twisted her upper body around 
to see him and pointed her finger towards the star.  "Do 
you see that?" she asked.

He looked up, trying to follow her line of sight.  He shook 
his head.  "See what?  I see a crescent moon and stars.  
Lots of stars."  He stopped walking, stood next to her and 
folded his arms across his chest, doing his best to keep 
the chill away.

"But do you see *that* star?" she asked, turning around to 
look again for herself.  "Where did it go?"  She squinted 
her eyes, as if that would help her to see it better.  The 
star was gone and in its place were a thousand other 
smaller white dots over the black carpet of outer space.  
"It was just there a second ago --" She looked at John.  He 
had an amused look on his face, like he had just sneaked a 
fork full of her dessert, but wanted her to know he had 
sneaked it.  "What are you smiling about?" she asked, 
amused herself, forgetting the blue light for now.

"Monica, you are filthy," he said.

She made a noise somewhere between a click with her tongue 
and a huff.  "Thanks John.  You really know how to flatter 
a girl."

"Maybe a nice lukewarm shower would help," he said slowly.  
Finally, his lips revealed his full spread of teeth, and he 
smiled more broadly than Monica had remembered him smiling 
since she'd known him.

"You fixed it!" she shouted excitedly.

He shrugged and smiled smugly.  "Anytime you're ready, it's 
all yours."

Monica threw her arms around him, nearly knocking him over, 
and kissed him chastely on the lips.  "John, you're a life 
saver," she said once she pulled away from him.  "I used to 
think I was tough, but it's amazing how much I took for 
granted something like access to a regular shower.  I think 
it might take some industrial strength solvent to --"

"Shhh," he said suddenly, looking over her shoulder in the 
same direction she had been watching the star.  "Do you 
hear that?"  

She listened, straining her ears towards whatever he 
thought he heard.  She shook her head that she couldn't 
hear it, but in mid-shake, she did.  It was the sound of 
wheels rolling over gravel.  Canyon City was located deep 
inside an old river bed.  The only way into it, was 
following the canyon along the river's path or from above, 
the way that Aiden had led their group.  As far as she 
knew, only one direction was completely navigable by car 
into the camp, but that wasn't where the sound originated.  
She looked up above to the top of the sheer rock walls.

"Someone's coming," John said.  Others began to gather 
around them, all looking up to the source of the noise.  

Finally, they saw two bright lights spill over the edge of 
the cliff and stop, seemingly hovering in mid air.  A car 
door slammed shut, followed by another.  The faint sound of 
voices could be heard, though it was impossible to discern 
how many there were or what was being said. 

Jeremiah Smith and Aiden soon stood beside Monica and John.  

"Do you have any weapons?" John asked Jeremiah.

Jeremiah smiled.  "Yes, but we don't need them now."

"Do you know who's up there," John asked anxiously.  "I'd 
rather not take any chances."

"You won't need a weapon," Jeremiah said again.  "It's 
William."

John shook his head.  "Whoever it is, they drove a car," he 
said.  "Sounds like there's at least two or three people up 
there."

"Let's find out," Monica said, starting towards the path 
that led to the cliff above, the same path they had taken 
when they'd arrived at Canyon City.

"We'll be coming from below.  They'll have the advantage," 
John said, lightly grabbing her wrist.

"So, put your FBI agent hat back on for a moment, and cover 
my back," she said, smiling.  Monica had no fear of the 
people on the cliffs.  Maybe she should, but the more 
nervous John became, the more she thought his reaction was 
cute, which kept her anxiety low.  Plus, her gut told her 
the reason for the blue star she had seen had just arrived.  
"Live a little, John," she said, winking at him.  She 
pulled away from his grasp and headed for the trail.  
Gibson and Aiden started after her.

"Fine, I guess I'll come along then," he called and jogged 
to catch up with Monica ahead of the boys.  She smiled when 
he reached her.  "If I was wearing my FBI hat right now, 
I'd be armed and wearing H.R.T gear, with a helicopter on 
call."

"I knew I forgot something.  The helicopter will be late.  
You'll have to suffer through with just me instead."

He laughed, and so did she.


^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Neosho, Missouri
December 24, 2012
5:16 pm

Tom Davis watched as light wind rippled his reflection in 
the murky water.  The pond sat on the property that had 
been the boyhood home of George Washington Carver, a man of 
great scientific importance during the latter half of the 
nineteenth century and the early half of the twentieth 
century, but best known to the average person as the father 
of peanut butter.  There was a little visitor's center a 
few hundred yards through the woods, which during the 
summer saw a reasonable volume of traffic for a relatively 
small park.  Today the visitor's center and the surrounding 
three hundred or so acres of land were completely empty 
except for Tom, his new companions and various woodland 
animals.

Carver had been born a slave, but raised like a son by his 
mother's former master.  There was a certain irony that Tom 
found this place to rest on their way to wherever it was 
they were going.  He had brought eleven children who had 
once been his prisoners with him, and now they were all one 
big fugitive family.  He, the former master; they, the 
former slaves.

Tom wasn't completely sure where he should go or what he 
intended to do once he got there.  For now, all of his 
energy was focused on avoiding detection and keeping the 
children safe.  This part of western Missouri was about as 
far from any of the five "mother ships" as he could get in 
one day, though Tom knew one of them hovered not terribly 
far away in Northeastern Missouri.  He had to pass by that 
ship one way or the other and he hadn't wanted to waste too 
much time by driving too far around it.

The safest place to go would be one of the red zones where 
no Level C Hybrid could enter without being torn to pieces 
and where only Grays who had no iron allergy would dare 
step.  The handful of Level B Hybrids, like himself, who 
were genetically engineered to be immune to the iron toxin 
were either high ranking project leaders, or had defected 
long ago.  Tom's only decision at the moment was whether to 
head north to the Mesabi Iron Range, or to the Southwest 
where humankind's adverse association with extraterrestrial 
biological entities had all begun.

He'd grown up in Michigan, so he felt the north pulling 
him.  It would probably be the safest place as well, with 
some of the highest levels of iron in North America 
concentrated in Minnesota's Iron Range.  Tom remembered his 
giant map with all of the lighted red dots.  The strongest 
concentration of survivors had been located in that region.  
Unfortunately, compared to the rest of the population of 
North America, that was a small number. 

"We'd be safe there for now, but we couldn't do what needs 
to be done," Christian said.  Most of the children were 
asleep in the visitor's center, exhausted by their 
impromptu exodus, and not used to traveling.  But as was 
usual for him, Christian was awake while the others slept, 
no doubt probing Tom's mind, trying to gain a sense of 
peace by understanding his intentions.  Tom wished 
Christian would share this wisdom with him, because at the 
moment Tom's intentions were a mystery to himself.  The boy 
had shadowed him silently to the pond, where they'd sat 
without speaking, either aloud or in their minds for nearly 
an hour.

"I don't know what needs to be done, Christian."  Tom 
smiled when he said the boy's name.  "I guess it's okay if 
I call you that out loud now."  Christian nodded, but 
looked to his feet in a rare moment of shyness.

"My parents and my friends called me Chris," he said.  His 
eyes locked with Tom's.  

Tom cleared his throat.  "You remember your parents?"  Of 
course he remembered his parents.  Christian had been nine 
years old when he'd been officially relocated from his 
parent's home to the dormitory where the children of the 
project lived until yesterday.  

The children had originally been bred to replace Level B 
Hybrids, like Tom.  They would be more advanced, but 
allowed to live with their parents until they reached their 
teens.  The fact that they had been nurtured in a human 
womb, and born to a human mother had been key to their 
superiority.  Once born, they'd be closely monitored, but 
left relatively alone until needed.  The idea was that they 
would become the best of both worlds.  They would be loyal 
and powerful, which had been the original goal for the 
Level B's, but lacking the deadly iron intolerance of the 
Level C's.  They would be the most advanced alien/human 
hybrid ever created and ideal for serving the agenda of the 
Grays.  

Christian had been one of the last to join the project.  It 
wasn't until after the first of the special children had 
been born that Tom discovered the children were special in 
other ways as well, that their biology itself might hold 
the key to the successful colonization of earth.  Once the 
iron toxin vaccine program was in full swing, the remaining 
free children had been rounded up immediately, whether it 
meant eliminating their parents or not.

"Sometimes I have nightmares about them," Christian said, 
answering Tom's question.  "I dream about the accident.  I 
try to save them, but I can never get to them in time."  
The boy continued to look at his feet, and he spoke softly.  
Tom thought he seemed on the verge of tears, which startled 
him.  Christian had often been emotionless, almost robotic, 
even during the worst phases of testing.  He was only 
eleven, but Tom always regarded him as older, more like a 
high school aged child, more mature than that even.  But 
this display of emotion was something Tom had never seen 
before.  Somehow it comforted him.  Maybe if this boy could 
show his humanity, it would be okay for Tom to do the same.  
They could learn together.

"It wasn't your fault," Tom said, walking over to where 
Christian sat, and sitting next to him on the grassy earth.  
"You couldn't have saved them.  Not even you are that 
powerful."

Now tears did fall over the boy's cheeks.  He sniffed, but 
otherwise did not make a sound.  He wiped the tears away 
with the back of this hand and looked at Tom.  "I should 
have known.  I could have warned them."

Tom shook his head and wrapped his arms around Christian, 
pulling him close.  "No, Chris.  I should have known.  It 
was all my fault.  If you need someone to blame, you blame 
me."

^^^^^^^^
Kayenta Valley
December 24, 2012
6:22 pm

Monica scrambled up the trail leading to the cliffs above.  
She lost sight briefly of the truck and their visitors.  
John, Gibson and Aiden followed behind her, though Gibson 
and Aiden had fallen back a step or two.  Joy had tried to 
come along, but Monica insisted that she stay below, and 
thankfully Jeremiah had coaxed the girl into staying with 
him.  If the visitors were who Monica thought they were, or 
who Monica thought one of them was, they'd all meet again 
at the bottom of the canyon soon enough.

Monica reached the top first, but before she could see 
anyone, she heard a familiar voice ordering her to stop.

"Slowly," the voice said.  "I'm armed."

"Dana?" Monica asked, stepping cautiously out of the 
shadows.  "Dana, it's Monica.  Is that you?"

After hesitating a moment, the voice asked "Monica?  Monica 
Reyes?"

Monica took a few more steps forward into the light from 
the truck's headlamps.  Dana Scully lowered her gun and 
stepped forward as well.  "Yes, it's me," Monica said, 
smiling so hard it physically hurt.  She had been expecting 
William, but not in a million years had she expected to see 
Dana with him.  Standing near Dana, was Mulder, within her 
arms reach, and behind him, forming an imprecise circle, 
were two men Monica did not recognize.  All of the adults 
clumped together in a protective posture around a boy who 
Monica assumed must be William.

Monica closed the distance to Dana and wrapped her arms 
around her, probably crushing her former co-worker and 
friend, but she couldn't contain herself.  After gasping 
softly, Monica felt Dana's arms wrap around her, returning 
the embrace.  "I can't believe you're here," Monica said, 
finally letting go.  She turned to Mulder, who smiled 
broadly and extended his hand.  Monica looked at it for a 
second, ignored it, and threw herself at Mulder, bypassing 
the casual shake for a bear-hug like the one she had given 
Dana.  Before she had let Mulder go, John's gruff voice 
came from the shadows.

"Dana Scully and Fox Mulder?  Unbelievable," John said 
warmly.  "I never thought I'd see the two of you again, 
especially not here, not now."  John gave Dana a quick hug.  
Monica stepped back and Mulder extended his hand to John, 
who took it, giving Mulder a firm shake.

"Agent Doggett and Agent Reyes.  You're not going to bring 
us in for the reward money, are you?" Mulder said, smiling.

"Just John and Monica now, Mulder," John said.

It felt like a family reunion to Monica.  She had not been 
so happy to see anyone in her entire life.  It was not only 
that these were two old friends, or that she hadn't seen 
them in ten years, but that she had been sure they were 
dead.  For them to show up, in the middle of the Kayenta 
Valley was amazing.  But it fit perfectly.  It would feel 
wrong to spend the first post-Colonization Christmas Eve 
without Mulder and Scully.  They had introduced her to this 
whole crazy mess, given her the knowledge she needed to 
survive it, so it was only right and proper that they 
should all be together now.  Monica sensed that they felt 
the same way somehow.  She could see the years on their 
faces, so much time on the run with only each other.  It 
must feel good to see friendly faces again.

"The dirty thoughts I hear inside my head could only be 
from the mind of one former Special Agent Mulder," Gibson 
said, slightly out of breath, smiling broadly, as he made 
his way up the path and into the light with the others.  
Aiden was a step behind him, but was quiet, and his face 
was serious with a touch of nervousness.

"Gibson?" Dana said, craning her head forward slightly and 
raising her eyebrows in disbelief.  

"Hello, Agent Scully," he said, holding eye contact with 
her, and shocking Monica by pulling Dana into a warm 
embrace.  Gibson had never been overly demonstrative as a 
boy, and the past few days with him as an adult had 
reaffirmed Monica's observations.

"I haven't been Agent Scully in a long time, Gibson.  I'm 
so glad you're safe," she said, pulling back.

"It's good to see you, kiddo," Mulder said, squeezing 
Gibson's shoulder, and clapping him lightly on the back.  

"It's really good to see you.  All of you," Gibson said.

The five old friends stood together in comfortable silence, 
each with their own variations of shock and joy registering 
on their faces.  None of them knew what to say next, yet it 
was clear there was so much to speak of.  

"You must be exhausted.  Why don't we all go below and get 
you settled in?  We have plenty of hot food and places to 
sleep and there's even a shower," Monica said.

"Oh my god, I never thought I'd hear that word again in my 
life," Dana said, rolling her head back along her 
shoulders, and pushing her fists into the small of her 
back.  

"I know exactly how you feel," Monica said, shifting her 
eyes towards the boy standing behind Mulder, finally 
allowing herself a long look at what had become of the baby 
she had helped bring into the world.  She put her hands on 
her knees and leaned towards him, but kept her distance.  
"Hello there.  I'm Monica." 

William smiled shyly, but didn't speak.

Someone cleared their throat, and Mulder turned around to 
face the two men standing next to William.  "Oh, I'm 
sorry," he said, extending his arm out towards the older 
man first.  "This is Rob Van de Kamp," then Mulder pointed 
to each person, "Rob, this is Monica Reyes and John 
Doggett.  They used to work with Scully and I at the FBI, 
if you can believe that.  And this is Gibson Praise."  They 
all nodded along with their polite hellos and Mulder turned 
towards the younger man.  "This is Liam... Actually, I don't 
know your last name.  Liam?  Hey, Liam?  Are you with me, 
man?"  

Liam was frozen.  His eyes were fixed on something behind 
Monica, and when she turned around, she realized he was 
staring at Aiden.  The scene would have been comical if it 
hadn't also been a touch creepy.  Aiden was also staring, 
though not back towards Liam.  The object of Aiden's 
attention was William.  

"Aiden?  Are you okay?" Monica asked, breaking his trance.  
His face was quickly transformed, back from slightly 
vegetative to relatively normal by a foolish grin. 

"I'm sorry," he said shyly, but with awe flavoring his 
voice.  "I just can't believe it."

"Believe what?" John asked, but Monica already knew what 
Aiden's answer would be.  It had been clear from the moment 
she'd first spoken of William around the camp fire during 
their first night in Canyon City, and it was written all 
over his Aiden's face now.  He thought he was in the 
presence of the Messiah.

"That I'm standing a few feet from William," he said.

The man Mulder had called Rob pulled the boy closer to him, 
his face showing alarm.  "Who exactly are you?  How do you 
know Will?" Rob asked calmly, but with a hint of warning.

"It's okay," Monica said, trying to sound reassuring.  
"He's a friend.  We'll explain everything once we get down 
to camp."

Monica glanced at William again, turned towards Dana.  
"Dana, I can't believe you found him, after all these 
years.  It's incredible."  Dana nodded, but clenched her 
teeth, looking like she had smelled some unpleasant odor.  
She looked towards Mulder, who had the same look on his 
face.

"Now wait just a damn minute!" Rob not quite shouted.  
"*You* came looking for Will?  Just like him?"  He thrust 
his finger towards the man Mulder had called Liam, but who 
had yet to say or do anything but stare at Aiden.  "What 
exactly is going on here?"  Rob sounded frantic, on the 
verge of hysteria.

Scully sighed and nodded to Mulder, who nodded back as they 
reached some silent agreement with each other.  With a 
somewhat deflated deadpanned expression, Mulder said, "Um... 
Rob, did I ever mention that Monica helped to deliver 
William into the world?"

There were approximately two seconds of complete and total 
graveyard silence before the shouting resumed.

Sometimes, Monica wished she had kept a scorecard all these 
years.  It would be so much easier to know what was going 
on.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Kayenta Valley
December 24, 2012
6:43 pm

The decision not to tell Rob the whole truth about who she 
and Mulder were and why they had arrived at his house two 
days earlier seemingly out of thin air had probably been a 
mistake.

Correction -- *had* been a mistake.  But as much as Scully 
rehashed the past few days in her mind, she wasn't sure she 
would have done anything differently.  They had all lived a 
lifetime since Colonization began, yet time had passed in a 
blur.  If not for Will's gift, who his biological parents 
were would still be a secret even to him.  There just 
hadn't been the right moment to discuss it with Rob.

Thanks to Monica, the moment, right or wrong, had arrived.  
Leave it to Mulder to make the situation worse.

"Did I ever mention that Monica helped to deliver William 
into the world?" Mulder asked.  Scully knew he was trying 
to be casual, lighten the situation, but he'd achieved the 
opposite.

"What on God's forsaken earth can he possibly mean by 
that?" Rob shouted, pointing to Mulder but his eyes 
pleading to Scully.  "Can't any of you ever just speak like 
normal people?"  Without letting her answer, he continued, 
randomly making eye contact with whoever landed within his 
line of site.  "I want somebody to explain to me right now 
what exactly is going on here, who all of you are in 
explicit detail, how this woman knows my son and why that 
man keeps staring at Will like he's the Pope," he said, 
jerking his index finger towards Aiden.  "If I for one 
moment believe I'm being jerked around, lied to, coddled or 
manipulated I am jumping in that truck with my son and 
getting the hell away from you all forever.  Is that 
understood?"

"Rob --" Mulder started, but Rob chopped the air with his 
arm, stopping him.

"I've heard enough from you, Mulder."

"Dad?" Will tugged gently on his father's sleeve.

"Will, I'll handle this," Rob said, not looking down.  
"You," Rob said tersely, pointing to Monica.  "What did you 
mean when you said you couldn't believe Dana had found Will 
after all these years?"

Monica hesitated, looked to Scully, silently apologizing 
for not realizing what the situation had been before she'd 
opened her mouth.  Scully nodded back that it was all 
right, *how could you have known?* she hoped her face 
conveyed.

"Dad, I --" Will tried again more earnestly.

"Will, please.  I want you to stay back."

William slinked back towards the truck.  Scully thought 
about comforting him, but decided she would have to wait 
until everything was out in the open.  It was time to pay 
the Piper and have this out.

"Rob, is it?" Monica asked.  "I don't think I'm the person 
you should be asking."

"Too bad.  I need some answers and I don't trust him," he 
said, jerking his thumb towards Mulder.

"Rob," Scully took a step towards him, forcing her voice to 
sound soothing, rather than anxious, which was more in line 
with how she felt.

"Or you," he said to her.

Scully took another step.  "Rob, please.  Let me explain 
everything.  I promise, I will tell you the whole truth as 
I know it."  She returned her gun to the holster on the 
back of her hip and raised her hands palms up in a sign of 
submission.  "Please, trust me."

"Why should I?" he said, deflating slightly.

"I can't answer that.  I can only say I'm the same woman 
who saved your life and tried to save your wife's.  I know 
Will's safety is the most important thing to you.  We have 
that in common.  Please?"

Rob nodded, but he was like a wild animal.  Willing to inch 
closer to snatch food from her hand, but prepared to run 
the moment he felt threatened.  

Scully reached inside her windbreaker, dug inside a pocket 
with her right hand until she found what she wanted.  
"Here," she said, handing two worn and faded wallet-sized 
photographs to Rob.  One was of William a few weeks before 
she had given him up for adoption; the other was taken a 
day after he had been born and included herself and Mulder 
cradling their new miracle child.  She had the photographs 
memorized, yet they never failed to draw tears when she 
actually looked at them.  The people in those photographs 
had so much future in front of them, or so they had naively 
believed.

Rob took the photos and studied them, his brow furrowed.  
"Where did you get these?"

"I took that one," she said, referring to the picture of 
William wearing a light blue hat, sitting in his baby seat.  
She hadn't realized telling Rob the truth would stir up so 
many emotions.  Scully had thought about -- dwelled on -- 
the moment she had handed William over to a social worker 
every single day since she'd done it.  She was not opening 
an old wound, because she'd never managed to stop the 
hemorrhaging in the first place.  This shouldn't be that 
difficult now.  Scully inhaled deeply.  "My mother took the 
other one."  

Rob looked at her perplexed, shook his head.  

Mulder moved next to Scully, keeping an inch or two from 
her and not interrupting, but letting her know he was with 
her.  That she was not alone.  She would have to thank him 
later.  "I remember when I took that picture.  William had 
been crying most of the morning because he was teething, 
but for some reason just before I snapped it, his face lit 
up and he was the happiest baby in the world.  I would have 
taken a hundred pictures that day if I had known they would 
be the last I'd take."

Rob stared at her.  The moment stretched out, and Scully 
was about to end the uncomfortable silence when Rob ended 
it for her.

"You're Will's mother, aren't you?" Rob asked, his nose 
crinkled, partly in anger, partly in disbelief.  "His birth 
mother?"  

Scully gulped, quickly wiped an escaped tear from the 
corner of her eye, and nodded.  "Yes."

"You're his father then." Rob stated to Mulder, rather than 
asked.  "All that stuff you told me about knowing your son 
was okay.  I felt sorry for you and you were just lying to 
me."

"I never lied to you about that," Mulder said seriously.  
"I just didn't volunteer any information."

Rob laughed.  "How is that different?"

"You're his parents?" a voice from behind all of them 
asked.  It was Liam.  He'd barely spoken since they'd found 
his camp in ashes, but he sounded re-energized.  "You are 
the Serpent King's mother and father?"  

Scully thought he might actually drop to his knees and bow 
before them.

"Stay out of this," Rob snapped.  Liam didn't pay him any 
attention.

"Unbelievable.  And I wanted him to ditch you."  Liam 
looked like he might laugh.  Scully still was not sure 
whether Liam was simply na‹ve, eccentric or insane.  Most 
likely it was all of the above.  

"For all I know you were in this deception game with them," 
Rob said to Liam.  "What did you do, help them find me?  
You and your friend?"

Liam shook his head, but his lips were turned up in an 
amused smile.  

"How did you find us?"  He turned back to Mulder and 
Scully.  "Why would you give your son up for adoption and 
then come looking for him so soon afterwards?  That doesn't 
make any sense.  They told us he was given up by a *single* 
mother," he said.  He lifted the photographs up to take a 
closer look.  "Anyone with a computer can fake a picture.  
This is all some elaborate scheme to get me to bring my son 
here, but I can't figure out what you can possibly want 
with him."

"Rob, that's enough," Mulder said.  He looked tired, the 
way Scully felt.  "This is the truth.  Will believes it, 
why can't you?"

"You've told Will?" Rob asked, sounding like Mulder had 
just told him it was raining lemon drops and the clouds 
were made out of cotton candy, or something equally absurd.  

"No, he told us."

"What are you talking about?"

"Ask him --" Mulder stopped mid-word and mid-gesture 
towards William.  "Where'd he go?" 

William was not there.  

"Did you see where he went?" Scully asked John and Monica, 
then Aiden.  All shook their heads that they hadn't seen 
him.  Everyone had been so caught up in the soap opera in 
front of them, they hadn't noticed an eleven-year old boy 
wander off alone in the dark.  

"Where's Gibson?" Monica asked nobody in particular.  
"John, did you see where he went?"

"No, I didn't notice he'd left," John answered, looking 
around like the others.

"Do you think he took Will somewhere?" Mulder asked, 
sounding slightly panicked.  

"Maybe, but I don't know why he'd just leave without saying 
anything," Monica said.  "Aiden, can you tell where either 
one of them is?"

The man Monica had identified as Aiden closed his eyes, 
seemingly concentrating hard, then shook his head.  "No, I 
can't hear them," he said.  Scully wasn't entirely sure 
what that had been about, but she hadn't been paying that 
close attention to him.  She'd been looking around, peering 
into the darkness for her son.  

"Where did he go, Mulder?" Rob shrieked.  

"How the hell should I know?  I was letting you pummel me 
with your paranoid nonsense," Mulder said, sounding equally 
strident.  Scully absently wondered when Mulder and Rob 
would start throwing punches, but didn't really care.  All 
that mattered was finding Will.

Scully practically leaped the few steps to the truck and 
threw open the door.  She pulled out a flashlight which had 
been stuck in the glove compartment and switched it on.  
Not even bothering to close the truck's door, she headed 
off in the direction opposite the cliff overlooking Monica 
and John's camp, the same direction they had driven from.

"Where are you going?" Rob yelled.

"To find my son," she called back without turning around.

"Dana, wait up.  We'll all help," Monica called.  Scully 
didn't slow down, but she heard Monica's quick footsteps on 
the dirt as she jogged to catch up.  

Scully had no intention of losing her baby boy once again.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

*You shouldn't go so far from camp at night.  There are 
wild animals.*

Gibson spoke silently, through his mind, knowing William 
would hear him.  William sat near a dried up tree with his 
arms around his bent knees looking out to the expansive 
horizon.  It was dark, but the outline of the world was 
visible, aided by moonlight and billions of stars.

"I want to be alone," William said out loud, seeming not to 
realize the voice had been inside his head, rather than 
from without.  He turned back around, sullenly, wrapping 
his arms around his legs tighter and resting his chin on 
top of his knees.

"You're never really alone, though, are you Will?"  Gibson 
said, sitting down cross-legged next to him, grimacing 
softly.  His leg had never really healed properly since 
he'd broken it, and it always gave him trouble when 
twisting into awkward positions.  

He'd caught a glimpse of William sneaking off while Scully, 
Mulder and Rob had been arguing.  Gibson had sensed the 
turmoil inside his mind, and understood it better than 
anyone else possibly could.

"I'm really glad to finally meet you in person, Will.  I've 
heard a lot about you."

William turned his head to look at Gibson, eyes wide.  
"How?"

"I'm an old friend of Dana's and Mulder's.  I spent a lot 
of time with Mulder just after you were born," Gibson said, 
pausing to confirm from William's mind what he suspected 
already.  "You know about them, don't you?  Who they are?"

William nodded.  "They're my parents -- my real parents.  
They told me, but I already knew."

Gibson smiled.  William didn't have to explain further how 
he knew.  Even if Gibson couldn't read his mind, he would 
have understood.  

The two of them were silent for a while.  

"Are you the one from my dreams?"  William asked softly, 
with a combination of shyness and hopefulness.  

Gibson considered for a moment.  "I'm not sure, Will.  I 
don't think so, but I think I know who you're talking 
about," Gibson said, half knowing intuitively what William 
meant, picking up the rest by hearing William's thoughts.  
"You've dreamed about the others.  The children.  The 
others like you.  One of them is here in camp." 

Once again, William's eyes grew wide as saucers.  

"Her name is Joy.  She helped us find you, and I think 
others are coming," Gibson said aloud.  He put his hand 
gently on William's shoulder, and looking at William but 
not speaking, he said, *You have friends here, Will.  
Friends who understand what it's been like for you.*

William nodded, swallowed hard, and Gibson knew William 
understood what similarities they both shared.  

Gibson smiled and said.  "We should probably go back.  
They're looking for us."

"I wish they would stop fighting."

"Sometimes adults are stupid when they're worried about the 
people they care about.  W