The Brotherhood
Chapter Five

By Esther Walker,   cenergy@earthlink.net
and Vickie Moseley,  vmoseley@fgi.net


Inside the compound
4:15 P.M.

Scully nodded slowly, almost imperceptibly, but enough for Dixie to 
offer a warm smile. She was in shock. No other word came close to 
describing how she felt at that very moment. This very frail, almost 
invisible woman, had not only known about her relationship with 
Mulder, but she knew about her pregnancy as well. She wasn't sure if 
she could trust her, but realized she didn't have much choice.

John Jacobs' booming voice from another room brought her back to the 
present and sent a chill through her body.

"Get up, you good for nothin' Fibbie!"

Scully took a deep breath and bit her lower lip. It was all she could 
do to contain her anger and keep from running to Mulder's aid.


***********

Mulder wasn't sure how long Scully had been gone. All he knew was that 
he wanted to see her. Needed to see her desperately. The guilt he was 
feeling superseded the pounding in his head and the dull ache in his 
side. When he heard the door to the closet unlock he prayed it was 
Scully, safe and sound. As safe and as sound as anyone could be around 
madman Jacobs, he thought bitterly.

His hopeful anticipation was short lived when he saw Jacobs' large 
form towering in front of him. Mulder heard him say get up, but then, 
suddenly, and without warning, John Jacobs grabbed him by the 
shoulders and hurled him out of the closet and across the room. 
Whatever words Jacobs said after that Mulder didn't hear. His head had 
exploded and he could no longer hear or barely see what was going on 
around him.

Mulder forced himself to concentrate. He needed to get through this. 
Dana was somewhere in the compound and he couldn't let her down. 
Jacobs was standing over him, slowly backing him into a corner. Mulder 
looked around but the slight movement made him gasp. They were in the 
kitchen, a young woman was standing a few feet away at the stove. She 
was cooking, wearing an apron. It was surreal, Mulder wanted to laugh. 
He pictured Marie Antoinette saying, "Let them eat cake" and Betty 
Crocker at a beheading. The room was spinning again and Jacobs kept 
talking. Shouting, I think he's shouting, Mulder thought. But what is 
he saying? Concentrate Mulder, concentrate.

"...want you to tell me what the hell is going on here? What happened 
to Jeremiah and what's happening to Bo? I know you know boy, so you 
just better tell me now before I feel the urge to inflict any more 
damage to that scrawny little body of yours." Jacobs' grin was pure 
mischief and from where Mulder was sitting he could smell the whiskey 
on the man's breath.

Great, a drunken lunatic, Mulder thought bitterly, forcing himself to 
look up at Jacobs and answer him. But what could he say? He had no 
idea what he was talking about.

"I...we," Mulder took a slow breath, he didn't know talking could be 
so painful. It would have been easier if Jacobs didn't keep coming in 
and out of focus.

"Speak up, boy, I can't hear you." Jacobs gave Mulder a swift kick in 
the chest, barely missing the already fractured ribs.

Mulder gasped for air. Bob, who had been standing by, afraid of his 
own shadow, started to laugh uncontrollably. A loud, nervous laughter 
that made Jacobs turn to him and forcefully push him out of the way. 
"Shut up, boy," he shouted. "If you can't take the heat, then get the 
hell out of the kitchen."

At that precise instant Jacobs noticed for the first time the woman 
standing in front of the stove. She was frozen in place, had been 
since the whole ordeal with Mulder began a few minutes earlier. She 
was boiling some water for Dixie, to make another tea for Bo, and at 
the moment was wishing the ground would open up and swallow her.

"Tenille, what the hell are you doing?" Jacobs was sparing no one 
today.

"I...I'm boiling some water to make a tea for Bo...Dixie...said..." 
The young woman was visibly shaken and was pushing her long blond hair 
subconsciously away from her face. She knew she didn't belong there. 
Not in the kitchen just then, not in the compound for the last six 
weeks. Like Bob, she had been a victim of circumstances, negative 
circumstances, for most of her life. When she met Bob over a year ago 
he offered her what Jacobs had offered him, an occasional kind word 
and a place to call home. More than anyone had given her since 
mother's death when she was six.

"I don't care what the hell Dixie said. You just..." Jacobs was cut 
off by a shuffling sound from behind. Apparently the young agent was 
trying to stand up, and was nearly on his feet when Jacobs spun around 
to face him.

"Good, I'm glad you're up," he bellowed mischievously. "Now maybe we 
can take care of this man to man."

Mulder was leaning against the wall for support. Forcing himself to 
focus on the situation at hand.

"So tell me boy, what is it the bureau has in store for us? Is it the 
water? Is it something they're pumping into the air?"

"I...don't...know..." focusing and speaking was almost more than he 
could handle. "What you're talking...about...We aren't 
doing....any...thing." His words were labored and he wanted to slide 
down the wall until he was sitting again. He couldn't remember why he 
had wanted to stand in the first place. Dana...that's right. She's 
here. He wanted to go find her. His eyes were starting to close. He 
could feel himself drifting away, his thoughts fading.

"God damnit, listen to me." Jacobs wasn't done with him. Agent Mulder 
would pass out when *he* said it was okay. Not a moment sooner. He 
leaned forward and grabbed Mulder's shoulders with both hands, but the 
young man's eyelids were fluttering and he knew he was losing him.

In a fit of rage, Jacobs let go of the agent and swirled around to the 
stove, pushing Tenille out of the way and grabbing the pot of boiling 
water she was tending.

Mulder caught a glimpse of something coming his way and instinctively 
brought up his hand and moved his head. The scalding water reached his 
right hand and part of his arm, causing the throbbing in his head to 
feel like a minor ache.


***********

Scully was trying very hard to concentrate on Bo and whatever it was 
Dixie was saying to her. Unfortunately, all she could hear were 
Jacobs' angry words directed at her husband. She wanted to run to him 
when she heard Jacobs yelling at Mulder to listen to him. She knew 
Mulder had a concussion and she could picture him blacking out in 
Jacobs' arms. She wanted him in her arms so desperately.

Just then, a young woman, she'd heard Dixie call her Tenille, came 
running out of the kitchen. The woman, Scully guessed no more than 20 
years-old, was visibly shaken and immediately ran to Dixie for 
comfort.

"Dixie, it's awful," Tenille was sobbing. "John's going to kill him. I 
know he is."

"There, there," Dixie was holding the woman, gently stroking her back. 
"It's okay, sugar. He's not going to kill him. He's just been drinking 
again and is a little upset."

"No Dixie, I can see it in his eyes," Tenille was fighting for control 
and looked Dixie straight in the eyes. "He grabbed the pot of boiling 
water I had on the stove and threw it at him. Caught his hand and arm. 
He was aiming for his face, Dixie."

Dana Scully stood up, determined to go in the kitchen and rescue her 
husband when she felt Dixie's strong hand on her shoulder.

"Tenille, honey," she was saying, not letting go of her grip on 
Scully. "Please go get me another blanket for Bo. I think he's 
startin' to feel better and I wouldn't want him to be cold."

Tenille nodded quietly and headed in the direction of one of the 
bedrooms. Dixie immediately turned her attention to Scully, who did 
not look very pleased or eager for small talk.

"Please let go of my arm, " Scully said through clenched teeth.

"Child, you can't go in there right now."

"I...I have to." Scully wanted to run, to scream, to cry, anything but 
what she was doing rightthen, which was nothing. For all she knew 
Mulder was already dead.

"I know you do," Dixie said slowly. "But you can't. Your man's gonna 
need you to help him and if you go in there right now, John will make 
sure you're in no shape to help him." Dixie paused before continuing. 
"Or your unborn child."

Scully's eyes welled up with the realization that Dixie was right. Now 
was not the time for her to make a move. But when? When and how was 
she going to be able to do something? Anything? Her attention was once 
again drawn to the kitchen and Jacob's angry voice, yelling at her 
husband words she knew he couldn't hear. She turned to Dixie, eyes 
pleading.

"What can I do? I can't just stand here."

Dixie smiled tenderly. This young woman reminded her so much of 
herself when she and Jeremiah were newlyweds. It made her heart ache. 
"Let me see what I can do," Dixie said, slowly walking to the center 
of the room, where she stood silently for a few seconds before letting 
out a high pitched, demonic wail. She continued alternately sobbing 
and screaming until everyone in the compound, everyone except for 
Mulder, that is, was in the room with her.

"What's the matter with her?" Tenille was asking, she'd already had 
enough excitement for one day. Dixie was the only one in the compound 
she felt she could trust. Even Bob had distanced himself from her in 
the last few weeks. The thought of losing Dixie was unthinkable.

Dixie began to speak slowly, between sobs. "Jeremiah....he was here," 
the old woman said. "He told me we had to get out of here. He said..." 
Dixie was shaking. Scully found her to be an incredible actress. Not 
only that, she'd managed to bring Jacobs out of the kitchen and away 
from Mulder. "He said...everything that's happening is our own 
doing...He said we are killing each other...We have to leave here...We 
can't kill anymore or we will all go to hell and damnation for our 
sins." Dixie continued to sob, yelling loudly when anyone came near 
her. "He's here," she kept saying. "Can't you feel him?"

The group that had gathered around Dixie was frozen in place. Most of 
the men and women in the compound had grown up hearing folk tales 
about the Blackfoot and the Sioux Indians. Tales that created a 
lifetime of superstition and a powerful belief in the afterlife. 
Messages from the dead, no matter what form they came in, were always 
taken seriously.

John Jacobs, on the other hand, was not a superstitious man and 
neither did he believe in the afterlife. But he was smart enough to 
know his followers did and so, right then and there, he decided what 
their plan of action would be. He just needed some time to put it into 
effect. In the meantime, to prevent an all out mutiny, he decided he 
better get the fibbie in the kitchen some medical attention. 

He turned to Scully, who had been standing away from the crowd, 
waiting for the opportunity to make her way to the kitchen.

"Hey Doc," Jacobs said, in a voice oozing with warmth. "Why don't you 
go into the kitchen and see what you can do for our friend, Agent 
Mulder. We wouldn't want anything to happen to him now, would we?"

Scully nodded, her heart in her mouth, and headed silently into the 
kitchen. 

The sight of Mulder, slumped against a corner of the large kitchen, 
one leg bent at the knee, with his head resting on it, the other leg 
stretched out in front of him, a badly burned hand, lying idly beside 
him, made her gasp. She clenched her teeth tightly in an effort to 
control her emotions. He needed professional help right now, she 
reminded herself. Not a hysterical wife. She leaned down in front of 
him and gently put a hand on the side of his head.

"Mulder," she whispered. "Fox, can you hear me?"

Mulder flinched slightly at her touch and slowly moved his head up to 
face her. The movement was painful, but he wanted so much to see her 
again. He tried to force a smile, but settled for a slow apology. 
"I'm...sorry," he whispered. "I didn't mean what I said...about 
the...baby..."

"Shh. I know you didn't mean it," she said. "But I need to take care 
of you right now. Open your eyes for me." Mulder did as he was told, 
squinting against what little light there was in the room. As she 
suspected, his eyes were dilated.

"Well, you have a concussion," she said matter of factly. "But we 
already suspected as much. Let me take a look at your hand." Mulder 
drew back slightly as Scully picked up his right hand. The scalding 
water had already caused blisters all along the palm of his hand and 
up his wrist and arm, halfway to his elbow. "I'm going to get you some 
ice water to soak your hand in," she said before standing up. "Stay 
put, okay?"

Mulder tried to smile. Like he was going anywhere.

Scully quickly found a large roasting pan and filled it with ice 
water, carefully placing it beside Mulder on the floor and gently 
putting his hand in it. He hissed in pain quietly, but said nothing. 
After rummaging through the small medical kit she had been given 
Scully found no creams or ointments for burns. There were plenty of 
bandages, but nothing to soothe the pain. She took out four aspirin 
and put them in his mouth, holding a glass of water up to his lips. He 
gulped the water quickly and she realized it had been a while since 
her husband had had anything to eat or drink.

His breathing was shallow and slightly irregular and Scully was 
fearful he was close to losing consciousness. "Mulder, where else does 
it hurt?" she asked, gently feeling his chest and ribs.

"Ow," he moved uncomfortably from her touch. "That hurts Scully. I 
think I may...have broken some...ribs."

"Not you, Fox, Jacobs. Jacobs broke some of your ribs," she replied, 
her voice full of hostility.

"Yeah, well. They're mine...They're broken."

Scully tried to smile at her husband's attempt at humor. He was very 
pale, with clammy skin and all the signs of shock. He needed to be in 
a hospital, but somehow, that didn't seem like an option.

"Mulder, you need to get to a hospital," she said anyway, just to make 
herself feel better.

Before Mulder could say anything Jacobs' shadow came over both of 
them. "I'm afraid that's out of the question, Doc."

Scully turned and looked up at Jacobs, contempt in her eyes. Mulder 
went to grab her arm but thought better of it. If Jacobs knew...If he 
knew what this woman meant to him, it would no doubt be the end of 
her.

Scully stood up in a weak attempt to gain some leverage on the man, 
who was easily three times her size. "This man needs to get to a 
hospital," she said. "He has a concussion, some broken ribs, a badly 
burned hand and is in the early stages of shock. I have nothing here 
to treat any of those. If he doesn't get to a hospital soon, he may 
die."

"Well, Doc, that's just a chance we'll have to take," Jacobs flashed 
her a leering grin and she wanted to punch him in the face. If she 
could only reach his face, she thought grimly.

"At least, let me get him to a bed, where I can make him more 
comfortable and he can rest." It was the most she could hope for under 
the circumstances.

"I'll tell you what," Jacobs answered, grinning once again. "I'll help 
you drag him into that closet again and you can take that big pot of 
ice water with you. And hell, I'll even throw in a flashlight, so you 
can keep a real good eye on him, okay?"

It really wasn't a question and Scully realized it was the best they 
were going to get. She nodded slowly, stepping in front of Mulder 
just before Jacobs' grabbed him. 

"I'll help him in the closet, " she said. "If you could please get me 
a blanket, I would really appreciate it."

Jacobs was about to say something, maybe kick the agent one more time 
for good measure, but thought better of it. A couple of his followers 
were in the kitchen now, still spooked from Dixie's ramblings, and he 
didn't want to add fuel to the fire. "Hey, Tim," he yelled to one of 
the men standing behind him. "Go get the Doc here a blanket." 

Scully helped Mulder to his feet and slowly walked him to the storage 
closet that would become their home for God knew how long. She found a 
good spot for Mulder and sat him down, going back for the ice water 
and the glass she had left on the kitchen floor. She took the blanket 
from Tim and the flashlight from Jacobs before closing the door to the 
closet herself. She waited for the lock to fall in place before 
joining Mulder on the floor. 

It took all his strength, but Mulder managed to put his good arm 
around Scully and bring her close, letting her head drop on his chest. 
He thought he heard her crying, but said nothing.


***********

Outside the compound
7:45 P.M.

Agent Thornley was not a happy man. He had been living this case for 
the last month and today, for the first time, he had felt like they 
might be getting somewhere. Like there actually could be an end in 
sight. Agent Mulder had been everything he had hoped for and then 
some. Intelligent, tenacious, willing to do whatever it took to take 
care of the situation. His partner had seemed like a Godsend. An agent 
*and* a doctor. The last medic he had sent in came right out with 
Jeremiah Miller. There was no reason why this time should have been 
any different. But it was. Agent Scully had been gone for nearly four 
hours.

He could no longer wait patiently. In spite of Agent Mulder's request 
that he not call the compound, that he wait for him to call, he picked 
up the phone and dialed John Jacobs' direct line. Agent Mulder and 
Agent Scully were good people. That much he knew. He could no longer 
wait around for the answers. It was time he started asking some 
questions.

The voice on the other end sounded slurred, angry. What little 
research they had dug up on Jacobs showed a man with a severe drinking 
problem. "Jacobs here."

"Jacobs, this is Agent Thornley. I need to speak with Agent Mulder."

"Gee, Thornley. I'm afraid you can't do that right now. Agent Mulder 
is...indisposed, right now."

Thornley tightened his grip on the phone. He could tell from the way 
Jacobs had said that that he was smiling. Enjoying the conversation 
and its repercussions. The son of a bitch..."Listen, Jacobs, you 
already have one murder to contend with on your hands. I suggest you 
let me talk to Agent Mulder before this gets completely out of hand." 
What was he saying? It already was out of hand.

Jacobs thought for a moment. He needed a few more hours to put his 
plan into effect and it would do no good to have the FBI storming the 
compound before he was ready. "Okay," he finally said, "I'll put the 
Doc on the phone, but make it quick. She's a busy woman."

Thornley could hear Jacobs laughing as he dropped the phone. What did 
he mean by his last remark? And why couldn't Mulder come to the phone? 
This day was not turning out the way he had expected.

Scully quickly moved away from Mulder when she heard someone unlocking 
the door. Mulder had fallen asleep and she could see when the door 
opened that he was not doing well. 

Jacobs reached in and grabbed her hand forcefully, pulling her out 
abruptly. "Agent Thornley's on the phone, wants to talk to Agent 
Mulder. I told him you would have to do." He led Scully into his 
private study and held the phone at a distance before handing it to 
her. "Make it quick and tell him nothing...or else."

Scully took the phone and answered slowly, hoping her tone would 
convey the seriousness of the situation. "Hello."

"Agent Scully, Thornley here. What the hell is going on? Where is 
Agent Mulder?"

"Sir?" What could she say that wouldn't make Jacobs grab the phone 
from her immediately.

"Agent Scully, are you all right?"

"No."

"Are you hurt?"

"No."

"What about Agent Mulder? Is he hurt?"

"Yes."

Thornley took a deep breath. "How badly?" No, no, ask yes or no 
questions, you fool. It's obvious she can't talk. "Is he hurt badly?"

"Yes." Scully looked at Jacobs, who was getting antsy.

"How about the other guy? The guy you were sent in to help in the 
first place? Is he dead?"

"I don't think so."

"Good, at least we're not at the point of retribution just yet. Agent 
Scully..." too late, Jacobs grabbed the phone from her.

"That's it Thornley. You had your chance. You know she's alive. As 
well as the other one. They're both alive. For now. You do anything 
stupid, however, and they won't be for long."

Thornley was left with a dial tone and an empty feeling in the pit of 
his stomach. The next call he had to make he dreaded even more than 
the previous one. He picked up the phone and dialed Assistant Director 
Skinner's direct line.

One ring and the call was answered. Walter Skinner didn't mess around 
with this line. Very few people had it and even fewer still ever used 
it. "Skinner."

"Walter, it's me, Spencer."

"Spence? Hey...good to hear from you. What's going on? Agent Mulder 
driving you nuts with his theories yet?"

"Well, actually no..." Thornley wasn't sure where to begin. "Walter, 
we have a problem."

Walter Skinner sat back and listened to his old friend recount the 
activities of the last 24 hours. When Thornley got to the part about 
Agent Mulder being allowed into the compound he took off his glasses 
and rubbed his eyes. "That's the thing about Mulder," he mused, "he's 
too good for his own good."

Thornley was getting to the part about Scully going in. "She insisted 
on going in. What with her being a doctor and Mulder's partner, who 
better to watch his back..."

"WHAT? You sent his wife in?" Skinner was hyperventilating. He should 
have known it would never work. Sending the two agents out on a case 
together. His two married to each other agents. Even though assigned 
to separate parts of the case, 30 miles apart, they still managed to 
end up together. In trouble.

Thornley was still reeling from the implications of Skinner's last 
statement. "His...wife?" Is that what he said?

"Yes, his wife. I take it Agent Scully didn't bother filling you in on 
that minor detail?" Sarcasm would get him nowhere at this point. He 
wasn't sure what would. 

"No, no, she didn't tell me that." Thornley was scratching his head. 
Now what? "How was I supposed to know?"

Skinner softened a bit. Thornley was right. Besides, even if they 
weren't married, if this incident had happened two years ago, both 
agents would have responded the same way. They had been devoted to 
each other from day one. Why should he expect anything different 
simply because they were married?

"You weren't supposed to know, Spence," Skinner said, relaxing a 
little. "They're professionals dedicated to each other, to their 
partnership. They would have reacted this way before they became 
romantically involved, before they got married. I would have expected 
nothing less from them before and I'm a fool if I thought they would 
behave any differently now. So what's the status now? Where are we? I 
know this can't be the reason you called."

"No, you're right," Thornley said, recalling his conversation with 
Agent Scully just minutes before. He repeated the conversation to 
Skinner, who sat silently for a moment before responding.

Mulder's hurt and Scully's pregnant, he thought to himself. "What are 
your options at this point Spence?" he finally asked.

"I'm not sure. I have orders to do nothing drastic without permission 
from the attorney general. I'm calling her next."

"You don't suppose this Jacobs character is bluffing, do you?" Skinner 
asked.

Thornley shook his head. "No, I don't think so. Agent Briggs was 29 
years-old, shot in cold blood. I wouldn't take anything Jacobs says at 
this point lightly. For all we know it may be too late to save Agent 
Mulder."

"I hope you're wrong," Skinner said. "He's got a lot to live for these 
days." He paused and thought for a moment. "Spence, I'm on my way out 
there. I'll call you from the plane to get an update."

Thornley hung up and thought about his old friend Walter Skinner 
before calling the Attorney General. He had felt these agents were 
special from the minute he laid eyes on them. Apparently, Walter 
Skinner felt the same way. He only hoped Jacobs was still unaware of 
their relationship to each other. That knowledge could be deadly for 
both of them.


***********

Inside the compound
2:00 A.M.

Mulder was running, faster than he thought possible. The Blackfoot 
warrior had been chasing him for quite some time and he was getting 
close. He could almost feel the warrior's knife on his head when his 
foot caught a fallen tree branch and he fell. The ground disappeared 
from underneath him and he kept falling, down a black abyss. 
Falling...falling...until he felt a hand reach out and grab him, stop 
him from falling.

"Shh. It's okay. Relax. You were having a dream." Scully. It was okay. 
Scully was there. Slowly, he realized where he was and why his head 
was pounding, his hand hurt like hell and he was having a hard time 
catching his breath. 

Within seconds the guilt came back. He felt guilty for not being there 
for Scully, when he knew she needed him. If only to offer some 
comfort. I just can't win for trying, he thought dryly.

Scully shifted her position around him, reaching up, feeling his 
forehead. He held up his left hand and held her hand against his 
cheek. "I'm sorry Dana," he said quietly. Even to himself, he didn't 
sound very good.

"Sorry for what? It was just a dream." He felt warm to the touch. Not 
a good sign. The burn was going to need treatment soon, before it 
became infected.

"No, not for that," he said wearily. "For getting you into this mess, 
for marrying you, for life."

"Don't be silly," she whispered. "I married you too, remember. And I'd 
follow you to the ends of the Earth if I had to." She felt Mulder's 
smile underneath her hand and it made her move closer to him, 
protectively bringing the blanket up around his chest. 

Scully turned on the flashlight and looked at her watch. It was 2 A.M. 
She looked at her husband's pale skin and offered him some water, 
which he took obediently, making sure to leave enough for her.

"When was the last time you ate anything, Mulder?" she asked, turning 
off the flashlight.

"What time is it?" he asked in return, ignoring the question.

"Answer me. When was the last time you ate?"

"I don't know. Yesterday sometime. Whatever we had on the plane. What 
time is it?" he added quickly, hoping to deflect some of her anger.

To his surprise, she wasn't angry. "It's two a.m. Just as well you 
haven't eaten," she added, "you probably would have thrown up all over 
this damn closet if you'd had anything in your stomach. Imagine that."

Fox smiled at his wife's attempt at humor. She never ceased to 
surprise him. 

"What do you think Thornley has up his sleeve?" she asked him.

"I don't know. I don't think it's up to him. The attorney general is 
running this show. Thornley's just the figure head. If it was up to 
him I think he would have busted in here by now."

Scully sat quietly for a moment before continuing. "Why do you think 
Jacobs let me come to you? Look after you?"

"Insurance, I suppose. I must be serving a purpose at this point. How 
was that kid, Bo?" Mulder pictured Bo, sleeping on the loveseat, 
having a nightmare right before waking up screaming, hanging on to his 
head for dear life. "Oh my God, Scully..."

"What, what is it? Are you okay?" Scully didn't like the tone in his 
voice. He had just discovered something, she could tell that much just 
by the urgent tone of his voice.

"I'm fine, well, I'm not, really, but no that's not what I'm talking 
about. My dream," he said, speaking faster than his bruised ribs would 
let him. "In my dream I was being chased by an Indian, probably a 
Blackfoot, since that was the tribe indigenous to these parts. He had 
a knife and right before I woke up he had the knife on my head, just 
above my forehead. Scully, he was going to scalp me!" Mulder had to 
lean his head back and close his eyes. His head was throbbing again. 
But he had to get this across to Scully.

"Mulder, relax. Whatever you have to say can wait. You need to get 
some rest."

"No, Scully, listen to me." He was determined to continue and she knew 
there'd be no stopping him. "Remember that map I was looking for the 
other day?" Was that only yesterday? "The map I got from Albert 
Holstein?"

"Yes..." Scully was afraid of what was coming next.

"On that map, this area, the area the compound is on, was clearly 
listed as having been the sight of a sacred Blackfoot burial ground."

"And?" Scully didn't really want to know, but she felt she should at 
least pretend.

"Don't you see? Jeremiah wakes up screaming, grabbing his chest. A 
chest X-ray shows an arrowhead. Your autopsy shows he bled to death, 
from a puncture wound. But there's no weapon to be found and no 
punctured skin. Bo wakes up from a nightmare holding his head, 
screaming in pain and becomes almost comatose instantly. Don't you 
get it Dana? Bo was scalped." Mulder sat back again. He was fairly 
certain that if the lights were on, he would be seeing double right 
about now.

"Mulder..." For once Scully didn't have a snappy comeback to his 
outrageous theory. After seeing Jeremiah's chest x-ray and looking 
inside his chest cavity, she didn't know what to believe. "Why? Why is 
this happening? Do you suppose the Blackfoot are angry?" She couldn't 
believe she had just asked that question. Validating his theory in the 
process.

Mulder smiled but said nothing. He knew these things were hard for her 
to accept and he didn't want to push his luck. "I guess," he answered. 
"Why else all this torture?"

"But why now? Why only in the last couple of weeks?"

"I don't know, maybe...hey, wasn't it listed in the case file that one 
of the men died? A couple of weeks ago?"

"I vaguely remember reading that somewhere." Scully thought for a 
moment. It was a true testament to Mulder's injuries that he couldn't 
remember everything he had read in the case file the day before. 
"Parker," she said. "Joe Parker, he was the oldest Yeoman, about 80. 
The FBI figured he died of natural causes. Only found out about it 
because Jacobs insisted on having a coffin delivered to the compound."

"That's it Scully, they buried the guy in the compound. The Blackfoot 
are angry. They're mad, they don't want to share their burial ground 
with the same white men that put them there in the first place." 
Mulder was giddy, completely sucked into his theory.

Scully laughed, surprising even herself. "I have to hand it to you 
Mulder, this is truly one of your more outlandish claims and I 
actually, honest to God, think I agree with you."

"Will wonders never cease. Now all we have to do is convince Jacobs 
it's not the FBI and..." Mulder's words were cut short by a loud 
crashing sound. Like a window being broken. He tightened his grip on 
Scully's hand. 

"Thornley?" Scully asked.

"I don't think so. I'd like to think the guy would be a little more 
subtle."

All hell was breaking loose. From where Mulder and Scully sat, they 
could hear people running, screaming, women sobbing. Jacobs' voice 
came thundering through the kitchen, perilously close to the closet 
door. 

"Brothers, it's time to make our move. It's time to get out of here."


End of chapter five

The Brotherhood
Chapter Six

By Vickie Moseley,  vmoseley@fgi.net
and Esther Walker,   cenergy@earthlink.net


Inside the Compound
2 AM

     Dixie had spent the majority of the night calming down
Tenille and the four other women in the compound.  All of
them had seen Jacobs drunk before, but never had they
witnessed the maniacal hatred he now possessed, or the cruelty
he seemed capable of inflicting on the Federal Agent in the
closet.  After settling them all down with some chamomile tea,
she watched until each one fell into fitful slumber before
allowing herself to rest.  

     She had the satisfaction of noting that Bo seemed to be
responding to the arnica infusion she had been giving him. 
The plant grew wild, right outside the back porch of the
compound.  <Once again, Gran, you knew what you were
talking about,> Dixie thought with a smile as she adjusted the
blanket on Bo.  Her great grandmother had been in her
eighties when Dixie had spent a summer with her in the back
hills of Tennessee.  The old woman was the local wildcrafter,
making medicines from the plants and trees that grew in the
hillocks and valleys.  Dixie had thought it foolishness at first. 
Sure, her mother had used aloe and chamomile, peppermint
and the like.  But it would never take the place of a real doctor
and hospital.  After spending a summer watching her Gran
'cure' any number of ailments of her neighbors, Dixie had
started paying more attention when the old woman spoke.

      "A little more 'tea', a lot more rest, and you'll be up
catching me some more squirrels for stew, Bo," Dixie
whispered to the sleeping young man.  His breathing was much
easier and deeper, his color better and the fever seemed to
have gone down.  She almost went into the kitchen to make up
some more of the 'tea', but she didn't want to wake the others,
especially Jacobs, who seemed to have drunk himself into a
stupor.  Dixie wasn't fooled.  She knew Jacobs was scheming
about something because she had seen him set the battered old
alarm clock.  He was planning on doing something before
daybreak, because the compound was usually up and moving
around by dawn.

     Finally, in exhaustion, Dixie pulled a pillow off one of the
other chairs and laid down on the floor next to the loveseat Bo
was on.  She wanted to be close, in case he had a nightmare
like Jeremiah.

     She startled when she heard the muffled cry from the
closet.  At first, she was afraid that Jacobs had woken up and
gone in to batter Agent Mulder some more.  But she looked
over and saw Jacobs, sleeping with a rifle across his lap, next
to the window.  She thought about going to the closet, to see
if everything was all right.  The only thought stopping her was
that of Jacobs waking.  She wasn't afraid for herself.  She had
been honest when she told him she had nothing to lose.  But
she was afraid for the young couple locked in the closet.  If
John got angry at her, she knew he would use it as an excuse
to hurt them.  So far, the young woman had been unharmed. 
If Dixie had her way, she would remain so.  And her husband,
though beaten pretty badly, was still alive.

     <Jeremiah, are you waiting for me?> she sighed, allowing
her mind to drift to thoughts of her own husband.  <I miss
your old bones.>  She let a single tear stray from her eye as
she tried to find some sleep herself.

     A tremendous crash brought her immediately to her feet,
along with waking most of the compound.  Jacobs was on his
feet, rifle at the ready, just having missed an untimely death by
inches.  Glass littered the floor and in the middle of the room,
the old piece of granite boulder that had been Joe Parker's
headstone sat like some kind of bomb, waiting to explode.

Outside the compound
2 AM

     Walter Skinner got out of the rental car and made his way
among the dozen or so vehicles lining the gravel road.  He
could see his old friend, Spence Thornley, pacing and
gesturing toward the compound.

     "Spence, any word on what's going on?" Skinner asked
without greeting.

     "Walter, God it's good to see you," Thornley exclaimed and
grabbed the Assistant Director's outstretched hand.  "No, no
word."  He caught the concerned look on his friend's face.  "Of
course, they haven't thrown out any bodies, either.  I'm taking
that as a good sign."

     Skinner nodded grimly.  "What's the word from higher up?"

     Thornley closed his eyes, shaking his head.  "Well, they
didn't use the words, 'sit on our thumbs',. but the message was
conveyed."

     Skinner bristled.  "Do they know there are two agents
being held hostage in there," he cried angrily.

     Now it was Thornley's turn to bristle.  "No, Walt, I think
I forgot to mention that," he seethed sacastically.  "Of course I
told them!  But you know Bureau policy as well as I do.  We
don't negotiate for our own.  The exact quote, by the way, was
'they knew the risks'.  My hands are tied," he said, letting some
of the anger slip away.  "And so are yours," he added, not
unkindly.  "We are not to make a move unless he starts killing
innocents."

     "He already killed a Federal Agent," Skinner said pointedly.

     Thornley's anger rose again.  "Yeah, one of *my* men! 
But Walt, that doesn't change the orders.  And quite frankly,
nothing short of a bomb would change them at this point. 
Everybody's still reeling from the Waco hearings."

     No sooner had the words left his mouth than Agent
Thornley and AD Skinner heard the crash and all eyes flew to
the compound.

     "What the hell was that?" Skinner shouted to the agents
closest to the fence around the compound.  One of them
turned and ran over to the two older men.

     "Sir, it looked like, . . .this is going to sound crazy," the
younger agent was saying, all the while looking back over his
shoulder at the clapboard building.

     "You wouldn't believe what I find crazy, Agent.  Just tell
me exactly what you saw," Skinner ordered.

     "Well, sir, the Brotherhood buried some old man over there
just to the east of the house.  They put him by a big rock, that's
about two and a half, three feet in diameter.  It was too big to
move, I imagine.  Looked like they chiseled his name on it and
the date, from what we could see.  Anyway, that rock just . . .
it up and flew through the window!  Like somebody threw it. 
Sir."

     Thornley had pulled up a pair of binoculars and was
scanning the compound.  "The lights just went on.  They're
moving around, but I can't tell if anyone was injured.  My God,
Walt, look at that window!"  He handed the glasses to
Skinner.

     Skinner let out a low whistle.  "Damn!  That thing broke
the sill and everything.  How much did it weigh?" he asked,
knowing no one around could answer that question.  He
looked around the ground, noting the distrubed dirt where the
rock had laid.  "And it must have traveled, what?  Twenty feet
or more," he said in awe.

Inside the compound
2:30 AM

     Jacobs was furious.  Now, the FBI was throwing boulders
at the house.  Or so he would have his men believe.  Secretly,
the appearance of the large rock, much too heavy to be lifted
by even two or more men, unnerved him completely.  But he
still had the presense of mind to see an opportunity when it
came to him.

     "Look at this!  They could have killed Dixie, or Bo or any
of us," he shouted to the assembled Brotherhood.  "We have
no choice.  It's time to leave this place, just like Dixie said
Jeremiah told her.  We must leave now, before they start
shooting, like they did at Ruby Ridge."

     At the mention of Ruby Ridge, the men grew sullen and
restless.  It was a nightmare each of them had shared.  It was
one of the reasons they rejected the interference of the
government in the first place.  Unlike Waco, the victims of
Ruby Ridge were a family, and by most accounts, a law
abiding one at that.  There had been no indication that they
were anything other than people who wanted to be left alone,
not unlike the Brotherhood itself.  And among the casualities
was a 14 year old boy gunned down in cold blood by two
agents.  At the mention of Ruby Ridge, there wasn't a man
present who wouldn't follow John Jacobs off the highest cliff
in Montana.

     Jacobs motioned for the women to come over.  "Now, I
want you all to gather up as many provisions as you can find. 
Blankets, food, wood, if you can carry it.  And we need to
make a litter for Bo, I don't think he'll be walking for a while." 
Five solemn faces nodded in compliance.  Only Dixie had the
forwardness to ask a question. 

     "What about the agent and the doctor?" she asked.  She
wasn't all that pleased that Jacobs was taking to her suggestion
so readily.  He was up to no good and she knew it.  But after
the show she had put on the day before, she was hardly in a
position to argue the logic of moving.

     Jacobs thought a moment.  He still might find a use for
them.  The alternative was leaving their bodies to be found by
the assault team outside the fence, but he doubted that the men
would take kindly to killing the woman.  After all, she had
tried to help Bo and seemed to be an innocent in all of this. 
Not that he cared, but he knew his men and they would.

     "All right, Dixie.  You can get them ready.  But he walks or
he's dead and left behind, understand?" he said gruffly and
turned to direct the men in gathering up the weapons and
ammunition.

     Dixie held her tongue and nodded, hurrying off to the
closet as fast as she could.

----------
     Dana hadn't wanted to fall sleep.  She was tired, exhausted
really, but she wouldn't allow her eyes to close.  Even so, she
had dozed, waking with his muffled cries as she held him tight.
In the five or so hours that they had been held in the closet, his
fever had grown worse.  He had been having nightmares off
and on.  Then, his theory of the sacred Blackfoot burial
ground and the ghost of revenge had surfaced.  Without
hearing it come from his own voice, she was starting to
wonder if it was nothing more than just another fever dream.

     She wasn't happy listening to his breathing, either.  It was
labored and she was becoming more and more concerned that
he might have a punctured lung.  The flashlight had revealed
that the hot water had scalded his arm to a point of third
degree burns.  Without treatment, he would undoubtedly have
an infection to contend with.  The situation was bordering on
hopeless.  

     <Hopeless,> she thought bitterly.  <Again.>  She
sometimes wished she had taken a different path.  If she had
gone into, say, plastic surgery, or obstetrics. . . The rumble of
her stomach and the slight dizziness she was feeling reminded
her that there was someone else to consider.  She hadn't eaten
since a hurried breakfast before she had gone to perform the
autopsy.  <That was a few million light years ago,> she mused.

     She could hear the Brotherhood outside their door.  It had
been a while since she and Mulder had heard the crash.  It
sounded like a bomb had been dropped on the place, broken
glass and shouts.  Jacobs' voice had frightened her to the bone. 
But then, nothing happened.  They were left in silence to
wonder what was going on outside the storage closet door.

     Her eyes kept sliding shut on her, her body betraying her
best intentions.  Finally, she dozed.

     She was standing in a field.  A meadow, really, surrounded
on all sides by white capped mountains.  Flowers bloomed,
making the meadow a crazy quilt of colors and scents.  As she
looked to her right, a man walked toward her.  The sun was in
her eyes, and she expected it to be Mulder.  As he drew closer,
she could see that it was not.  It was a man, obviously Native
American, wearing buckskin leather and trimmed in feathers. 
He was saying something to her, but she couldn't hear the
words.  He lifted a stick he held, and she watched him,
mesmerized as he picked up a sprig of the plant at his feet and
offered it to her. . .

     When she heard the lock click, she jumped.  Coming
instantly awake, she gripped the flashlight, ready to use it as a
weapon in case Jacobs planned on using Fox for a
punching bag again.  When the bright light of the hallway
spilled into the closet, though, it was Dixie's tiny frame that
was silhouetted.

     "Dixie," she whispered gruffly.  "Are you alone?"

     "For now, child.  For now.  How's he doing?" she asked,
motioning over to Mulder.

     Dana gave her husband a hard look in the glare of the
hallway light.  He was dozing again, too.  But he was far too
pale and she could see the sheen of sweat on this face.  "Not
good.  He's got a concussion.  I'm worried that one of the
broken ribs might have punctured a lung.  And that burn is
third degree, it needs to be treated."  She looked past the old
woman to see Tenille and some of the others packing up items
in the kitchen.  "Dixie, what was that noise?  It sounded like a
bomb went off?"

     "Almost, but not quite.  Old man Parkers' tombstone
decided to come through the window, right next to where
John was sleeping.  Sure made that drunk sit up and take
notice," Dixie couldn't hold back a soft chuckle.  "But now
John's decided that we have to leave here."

     "A tombstone?  Through the window?  I doubt that is was
Thornley or any of the men outside the compound," Dana
mused softly.

     "Honey, I don't think *any* human could have lifted that
stone.  Strange things are happenin'.  And John's gettin' himself
spooked."  Dixie didn't notice the slight scowl that crossed
Dana's face.

     Mulder stirred in his sleep, coughing.  It was a wet sound
and Dixie frowned at the noise it made in the small closet. 
Dana forgot all about the tombstone and turned her attention
to matters more immediate.  "Dixie, are there any medicines
here in the compound?  Neosporin, Tylenol, cough syrup, any
of that?" Dana asked anxiously.

     Dixie chewed on her lip.  "All that run out weeks ago,
honey.  We're down to the bare nubbins, here.  The food I've
been fixin' is mostly squirrel stew.  The only thing we have in
good supply is John's Jim Beam and he's hording that for
hisself."  At Dana's worried expression, she decided to take a
chance.  "How fixed are you on modern medicine?" she asked.

     Dana looked at the older woman suspiciously.  "Very. 
Why do you ask?"

     "You're a *real* doctor, aren't you, then?" Dixie
responded.

     "Yes, I'm a medical doctor.  But I don't practice.  I'm a
forensic pathologist.  A coroner, sort of."

     "And they sent you in to help Bo?" Dixie asked, not hiding
the surprise in her voice.  "That figures," she added with
disgust.

     Dana fumed a little.  "Look, I'm the only one out there who
had *any* medical experience at all.  And I've taken care of
my share of live patients.  This one included," she said, gently
brushing the sweat soaked hair off Mulder's forehead.

     "From the looks of it, that probably comes in real handy,"
Dixie said derisively.  "Well, I've done my share of
*doctorin* too.  But not the Journal of American Medicine
way.  I can take care of that burn and probably do something
for the lungs and his head, if you let me.  But you have to trust
what I'm doing and not ask too many questions."

     Dana stared at her.  "I can't do that," she said flatly.

     "Even if it means he might die," Dixie flared.  "Listen to
me, girl.  John says we're packin' up.  And I'm supposed to get
you two ready to move with us.  Now, that's the good news,
coz it means John's not plannin' on killin' you.  But the bad
news is, your man here's gotta walk on his own.  Otherwise,
John puts a bullet in his head and the rest of us go on without
him."  Dixie slowed down a little as she saw Dana turn ghostly
pale.  "I don't want that, and neither do you.  Now are you
gonna take what help I can offer, or is the alternative that
appealing?"

     Dana's slow shake of her head was all the answer Dixie
needed.  "Mulder," she said quietly as Dixie started to leave.

     "What?" Dixie asked, afraid the young woman might have
lost all sense of reality.

     "His name is Mulder.  Don't call him 'my man'.  Please. 
Especially around Jacobs," she pleaded.

     "You got a name, too, or do I just call you 'Doc'?" Dixie let
a smile form on her weary face.

     Dana smiled in return.  "Dana.  Dana Scully."

     Dixie looked over at the man sleeping on the floor. 
"Mulder Scully.  His mama must have had a *hard* time in
labor," she said with conviction.  And for the first time in
almost 24 hours, Dana had something to laugh about.

-------

     Dixie had been gone a while and Dana was beginning to get
worried.  Mulder was in no condition to stand, much less walk
that far.  It would have been better if they could carry him, but
it was not going to be allowed.  The only thing that might save
them was the slim chance that Thornley had been given the go
ahead to storm the compound.  

     "Fat chance of that," she muttered, staring the door in the
darkness.

     "Of the cavalry coming?" a husky voice asked beside her.

     "Hey, you're awake," she said, rubbing his arm and
shoulder.  "How are you feeling?"

     "We have to find a different pick up line for you, Scully" he
gasped, trying to make his voice sound stronger than it was. 
He tried unsuccessfully to push himself into a sitting position. 
His groan alerted her to how difficult it would be for him to
walk.

     "Yeah, well, I'm off the market, so I don't need a new line,"
she shot back, and helped him get comfortable.  He could tell
by the tone of her voice that she was worried.  "Do you think
you could walk, if you had to?"

     "Probably," he lied.  "Not far," he added, trying to be
realistic.

     "Jacobs wants to move out.  Dixie says he's taking us with
them.  I guess we're still 'insurance' to him.  But you have to be
able to walk.  I don't know if that's possible, in your
condition," she sighed.

     "If you can walk in 'your condition', . . . I can . . . walk in
'my condition'," he assured her.

     "Well, Dixie has some, ah, tea I guess, that might help,"
Dana said unconvinced.  <If it doesn't poison you first,> she
added to herself.

     "Tea?" he asked.  "You don't . . . sound so sure . . . about
this, ah, tea," he said, imitating her hesitation.

     Their conversation was cut short by Dixie coming in with a
cup in her hand.  "Here, I want you to drink this.  Now, it's
hot, and we're out of sugar, but it will help, I'm sure of it," the
old woman said, smiling brightly.

     "What is it?" Dana asked, taking the cup and sniffing it
suspiciously.

     "Arnica," Dixie replied, taking the cup back and helping
Mulder sip from it.  "Leopard's bane is what some folks call it. 
Grows wild here, right outside the back door."  After the first
sip, Mulder made a face and shook his head.  She took the cup
back and poured a small amount onto a torn piece of flannel. 
"Here, lift up his shirt," she directed Dana.  Hesitantly, the
young woman did as she was told.

     "This is hot, but it will help with those broken bones,"
Dixie said, pressing the damp cloth onto his side.  He hissed
with the pain, but said nothing.

     "What is in that stuff?" Dana demanded, not able to hold
her curiosity in check.

     "Told you, honey.  It's arnica.  Old Indian remedy.  My
Gran swore by it.  Good for concussions, broke bones, shock,
pain, you name it.  But just a sip at a time.  More'an that and
he might not wake up," she said casually.

     "It's poisonous?!" Dana exclaimed.  "It sounds like 'snake
bite medicine'!"

     "Nah, child.  You wouldn't use arnica for snakebite.  You'd
use black cohosh or purple cornflower.  Course, out where
you folks hail from, you'd use Virginny snakeroot.  Can't get
purple cornflower east of the Mississippi, Gran always said." 
She continued to dampen the cloth and gently press it against
the ribs.  
     
     After a few minutes, Mulder took hold of Scully's hand.  "I
don't know if it counts for anything, but it doesn't hurt as much
when I breath," he said, not really wanting to anger his wife,
but feeling very relieved that the home remedy was working.

     "Probably the early stages of severe toxic shock," Scully
said in disgust.  But she did nothing to stop Dixie's
ministrations.

     Dixie let a sad, warm smile fall on Dana.  "Oh, honey, I was
just like you once.  I didn't buy that stuff Gran told me for a
minute.  But I saw her do more good with a backyard full of
weeds and a couple of old flannel shirts than all the fancy
doctors in all the hospitals in Nashville, Tennessee.  How do
you think the human race survived before they thought up X-
rays and che-mo-therapy, and all those fancy computers? 
People been doctoring *this* way a whole lot longer than your
way, Dana," she said gently.  "And a whole lot of them lived to
tell of it."

     "He still needs a hosptial," Dana muttered angrily, but
neither of the other two people in the room seemed to pay her
much mind.

     Dixie took her hand and pressed it against the cloth still on
Mulder's side.  "Hold this here, till I get back.  Now we'll see
what we can do about that burn."  And she left them alone in
the closet again.

     Mulder smiled weakly at his wife.  "Sorry," he said, his
voice full of meaning.

     "Sorry for what?  That you're feeling better?  That's the
dumbest thing you've said today, Mulder," she spat out bitterly
and immediately regretted it.

     "No, I'm sorry that I'm causing you to lose another piece of
your faith, sweetheart.  I know that hurts you.  That's why I'm
sorry," he said, and closed his eyes.  Even Scully had to admit
that his breathing didn't seem as labored.


End chapter six


The Brotherhood
Chapter Seven

By Esther Walker,   cenergy@earthlink.net
and Vickie Moseley,  vmoseley@fgi.net


3:00 A.M.
Outside the compound

"I don't like it Spence," Skinner was saying, still staring through 
the binoculars into the compound. "They look like they're moving 
around with a purpose. Like they're going somewhere."

"Let me see." Thornley took the binoculars from his old friend. "Any 
sign of Mulder or Scully?" he asked, knowing what the answer would be.

"No, nothing." Skinner couldn't help the dejection in his voice.

"You're right, Walt," Thornley interrupted. "For three a.m. they're 
awfully focused. Maybe this is our break," he said, putting  down the 
binoculars. "If they're planning on going somewhere there's only a 
front door and a back door. We've got both of them covered."

"You sure there are no other exits?" Skinner was scanning what he 
could see of the compound from where he stood.

"Pretty sure," Thornley replied, a mixture of dread and anticipation 
on his weary face.



3:00 A.M.
Inside the compound

"Tenille, what the hell are you doing?" John Jacobs could have used a 
couple more hours sleep to sober up and poor Tenille was caught in the 
middle of his current outburst.

The young woman was kneeling beside Bo, placing a small, red silk 
pouch on a string around his neck. "I made Bo an amulet," she 
answered, almost whispered, to the floor.

"A what?"

"An amulet. It's kinda like a good luck charm. It's supposed to help 
him heal quicker."

"Oh for God's sake! Get the hell out of here and go do what I asked 
you."

Tenille didn't dare look at Jacobs. She dropped the silk pouch gently 
on Bo's chest and practically ran out of the room.

"We have 30 minutes everybody," Jacobs shouted at no one in 
particular. "We need to be ready to go in 30 minutes." The big man 
surveyed the room, the broken window, the stone with old man Parker's 
name carved into it. He felt a chill go through him. Thirty minutes is 
going to be 30 minutes too long, he thought to himself. He hurried 
away from the rock, spooked, in search of his Jim Beam stash.


Both Mulder and Scully stiffened when they heard the lock to the 
closet being opened. Whatever Dixie had given Mulder had helped, but 
he was still in no condition to face an angry Jacobs and from what 
they had just heard, he was not a happy man.

Both agents relaxed when they saw Dixie's small frame enter the 
closet. Her arms were full and Dana was relieved to see the first aid 
kit she had brought with her to the compound. She could think of no 
other reason why this made her happy than the simple fact that it 
represented medicine in her terms. The way she knew it. Familiarity 
breeds comfort, she thought grimly.

"How you feelin'?" Dixie asked, touching Mulder gently on the leg.

"Better," he said honestly, attempting to sit up a little to prove it.

"Good," Dixie said matter of factly, "'cause John just said we got 30 
minutes to get out of here. That's how long you've got to get your 
strength up."

"Surely he must know the place is surrounded," Scully said. "He can't 
possibly think he's going to walk out of here and they're going to let 
him go. He's already killed one agent..." Her voice trailed off, she 
knew Jacobs was capable of killing again and it was all she could do 
to erase the mental image of Jacobs towering over Mulder.

"Oh child," Dixie said, resting her hand tenderly on Scully's 
shoulder. "We ain't going out any door. We're going out our very own 
tunnel. It's been here for years. Longer than me or you have been on 
this Earth. Probably ain't on no map either."

Realization struck Scully just moments before the panic hit. An 
underground tunnel. Probably an old mine shaft. Who knew how long it 
was, how deep. They could be buried alive in one of those things and 
never be found. And Mulder...he would never survive miles and miles 
through a mine tunnel. No matter what Dixie gave him.

The closet was suddenly too small. She couldn't breathe. By the time 
Mulder realized what was happening she was hyperventilating. He took 
her hands into his, forcing himself to turn and face her.

"Dana, look at me," he said, demanding his voice to sound 
authoritative and strong. She was staring right through him. His words 
were muffled. She felt alone. So alone. "Dana...Scully, it's going to 
be okay. Slow down and take a deep breath." Panic was slowly creeping 
into Mulder's voice. Scully didn't crack easily. He blamed himself for 
all of it. If only he hadn't pursued his conversation with Jacobs into 
the compound. If only... If only what? His head screamed. He had to 
bring her back. He didn't care what happened to him, but Scully, 
nothing could happen to her. He would die before letting anything 
happen to her.

Dixie quickly sensed the situation and left the couple, only to return 
a minute later with a warm cup in her hand and two slices of bread. 
Mulder had managed to get Scully's attention and she was taking deep 
breaths, hanging on to him for dear life.

"Here, drink this," Dixie said, holding the brown mug up to Scully's 
lips. She surprised even Mulder by drinking the liquid without 
hesitation.

"That's a good girl," Dixie was saying. "You just relax and drink this 
all up. You'll be feelin' better in no time."

Scully finished her tea without saying a word. The hot liquid felt 
good inside her empty stomach. She was just beginning to realize how 
hungry she was when she closed her eyes and leaned her head against 
the wall.

"What did you give her?" Mulder asked Dixie.

"Raspberry tea. Chamomile is better for calming the old nerves, but 
raspberry helps prevent miscarriage. I thought..."

"What?" Mulder sucked in his breath at the pain the sudden movement 
caused him.

"Calm down, son," Dixie said, checking the wet flannel over Mulder's 
rib cage. "I didn't say she was *havin'* a miscarriage. The tea just 
helps keep everything in place is all.

Mulder wasn't convinced. He looked over at Scully who had opened her 
eyes and was staring right at him. "I'm okay," she whispered. Mulder 
read her eyes for any doubt. Any trace she might be keeping something 
from him. "Really," she said. "I'm fine. I just panicked for a minute. 
Thank you," she said, turning to face Dixie. "I think the tea worked." 
Her sudden calmness was unsettling to her husband but he held himself 
in check, realizing that a panic attack from him was the last thing 
any of them needed.

Dixie smiled. "If only everything in life could be solved with a cup 
of tea, Jeremiah would say to me. You'd be runnin' the country, 
Dixie." She looked at the young couple in front of her and felt an 
overwhelming desire to cry. For her husband. For herself. For their 
lives. She had a sinking feeling the worst part was still ahead of 
them.

She shook herself out of her reverie and casually wiped her face, 
surprised to find she had shed no tears.

"We better get this show on the road here," she said to Scully. "We 
need to take care of your man's...I mean, Mulder's burn."

Scully nodded and Mulder protectively pulled his hand closer to his 
body. He had become accustomed to the pain and wasn't looking forward 
to Dixie's aid, helpful as it might be.

Dixie noticed his reaction but ignored it and continued. There really 
was very little time left. "I've got some aloe here, fresh off the 
plant just a couple days ago. I've used it all over since I was a wee 
one. Works wonders." She looked at Scully before continuing, making 
sure it was all sinking in. Who knew what the next few hours had in 
store for them, let alone the next few days. She wanted Dana Scully to 
know what she was doing, in case the time came when she wasn't around 
to help. Maybe God would be kind to her and let her join old Jeremiah 
before too long. She noticed Mulder had leaned his head back against 
the wall and had closed his eyes. Just as well, Dixie thought, this 
isn't going to be pleasant for him.

"I'm going to put the aloe on the burn," Dixie continued, "and then 
some of this here purple cornflower." Dixie held up a strand of dark 
purple leaves and Scully nodded. It was obvious to her that Dixie 
wanted, no, expected, her to pay attention.

"The combination of the two will amaze you, my boy." She had caught a 
small amount of fear creeping onto the young man's face and was hoping 
her words would soothe him.

"I brought your first aid kit, Dana," Dixie continued, wishing she had 
a little more time to work on her bedside manner and possibly 
alleviate some of Mulder's fears. "I noticed some bandages in there. 
When I'm done I trust you can wrap it all up nicely." 

Scully nodded again. She felt so helpless. And so indebted to this 
tiny woman. The woman whose husband's body she had been probing not 
too long ago. Would Dixie forgive her if she knew?

Mulder's gasp and quick intake of breath brought Scully out of her 
stupor. Thoughts of Jeremiah Miller and his bizarre death would have 
to wait.

Dixie was spreading the aloe on Mulder's hand with her bare fingers 
and even though she was being extremely gentle, Mulder was not having 
an easy time of it. Scully squeezed his good hand and brushed some 
sweat drenched hair away from his forehead. She was grateful he wasn't 
looking at the burn. The red streaks that had surfaced in the last 
hour were a sure indication that infection was setting in. She caught 
herself praying that Dixie knew what she was doing.

When she had used up all the aloe she had with her, Dixie gently put 
the cornflower leaves on the burn, making sure to overlap them and not 
leave any area untouched.

"There, isn't that a pretty sight," she said lightly to Mulder, who 
managed to give her a weak smile in return. Dixie turned to Scully. 
"Dana, you finish bandaging up this hand and arm, making sure the 
leaves stay in place. When you're done I want you both to eat this 
bread." Dixie pointed to the two slices of homemade bread she had 
brought in earlier. "It's my mama's recipe. It ain't much, but it's 
all I got. And it's more 'an you two have had in a while. Maybe more 
'an you'll get in a while too," she finished softly.

She turned to Mulder before leaving. "I hope you can walk out of here, 
son," she said. "I've done all I can. Now it's up to you. I'll be back 
for ya both in 15 minutes.

She was out of the closet before either one could say anything.

Mulder picked up his slice of bread and handed it to Scully. "You have 
it," he said. "I'm not hungry."

"God damn you Mulder. You are so predictable." Scully had been on an 
emotional see saw for the last 24 hours, not to mention the last 15 
minutes and Mulder's chivalry was more than she could handle. More 
than she wanted to deal with right now. "You need to eat this bread as 
much as I do. If not more. I guarantee you Jacobs wasn't kidding when 
he said you would have to walk out of here or stay behind dead. You 
need your strength..." she knew she couldn't go on without her voice 
betraying her. She was so close to the edge. So close to falling into 
an abyss of hopelessness.

Mulder looked at her slowly. The throbbing in his head, his side, his 
hand...had all become a loud pounding. Every hair and fiber in his 
body told him to close his eyes and just hope the bullet would kill 
him instantly. He wasn't sure how far he could walk. And through a 
mine shaft of all things. It would be easier for Scully if he was left 
behind. 

"Scully, I...you..." What could he possibly say to her that would 
convey everything he was feeling in the short amount of time they had 
left together? The time they had left together alone?

He was still feverish and Scully couldn't tell if the moistness around 
his eyes was the fever speaking or tears he was attempting to hold 
back.

"Mulder," she finally said, almost reading his mind, "eat the bread. 
We'll get out of this alive. I know it. Don't even think otherwise. 
Don't even think my life would be worth half of what it is without 
you."

"But Scully, if I hadn't..."

"Shut up, Mulder. If you hadn't what? Whatever you were going to say, 
don't. Just eat the damn bread. We'll be fine."

Mulder smiled in spite of himself. He was grateful to his wife for her 
strength and determination. Two things he was severely lacking right 
about now. "What makes you so sure," he asked with a mouth full of 
bread.

"I just know."

Mulder arched his eyebrows. "That's not like you Dana. You've got my 
curiosity up," he teased, purposely relaxing a little.

"Missy told me," Scully answered slowly, unable to look at him. The 
conversation with her sister, the ghost of her sister, she reminded 
herself sadly, just before her wedding, was giving her what little 
strength she had left.

"She told you what? That we would be kidnapped by some alcoholic 
madman who makes Atilla the Hun look like Peter Brady, dragged through 
a mine shaft in less than stellar condition and come out the other 
end smelling rosy?

"Very funny," Scully said, repressing a smile. Mulder didn't even 
question the fact that her sister had been dead for nearly a year. She 
supposed that was one of the reasons why she loved him. There was very 
little he *ever* questioned. "She told me about our three kids." 
Scully said, leaning closer to her husband and looking him straight in 
the eyes. "So you better get your butt in gear and come out of that 
tunnel smelling rosy, if you expect another chance to procreate. Much 
less two more chances."

Mulder's reply was cut short by Dixie's voice. When she opened the 
door and faced them she was grim and sullen. "It's time," she 
whispered quietly, extending her hand to Mulder. "I hope you have it 
in you, boy. Something's got John spooked and he's not takin' kindly 
to anyone right now."



3:30 A.M.
Outside the compound

"Sir! Sir!" A young agent, one of the men standing guard close to the 
compound, was frantically trying to get Thornley's attention on the 
two way radio.

"What is it Sullivan?" Thornley was only about 50 feet away and 
decided to head in the direction of his young agent. Skinner was right 
behind him.

"I can see Agents Mulder and Scully, Sir."

"What?" Before Thornley could see or say anything else Skinner had 
grabbed the binoculars from his grip.

"It's them all right," Skinner said.

"What are they doing?" It was all Thornley could do to keep himself 
from pulling the binoculars away from Skinner. Instead he ran the last 
few yards to Agent Sullivan and commandeered the young man's 
binoculars for himself.

"It looks like they're being led somewhere." Skinner could feel the 
sweat building on the palms of his hands. He didn't like it "Mulder 
looks like shit," he said, mostly to himself. "Something's wrong with 
his hand...it's all bandaged up and...he looks...he looks like he's 
having a hard time breathing."

"Probably broken ribs," Thornley said absently before catching the 
sense of dread coming from his friend. "Agent Scully looks okay," he 
added, to reassure Skinner as well as himself that not everything was 
out of control.

"For now," Skinner noted roughly. "Where are they going? What's on 
that side of the compound?"

"Just more rooms. Bedrooms I think."

"A back door?"

"No, the back door's on the other side. Behind the kitchen."

"You sure?"

Thornley put down the binoculars and scanned the clapboard building. 
"I'm sure," he said, taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly. Why is 
everyone headed in that direction? he wondered. Too many frightening 
thoughts were beginning to crowd his brain for attention. Maybe it was 
time to sacrifice someone. An agent? Two agents? The entire 
Brotherhood? His dread became unbearable when a young woman with very 
long, blonde hair approached the window and began pulling the curtains 
shut.

The last thing they saw was Jacobs pushing Mulder along with the butt 
of his rifle.

Skinner was furious. "That's it, Spence. We have to do something. I 
can't just stand here and watch two of my best agents being dragged 
around by some madman."

Skinner was already halfway to the tent, his long strides telling 
everyone to stay clear.

"Walt, we can't just storm in there. If we do that you might as well 
start funeral arrangements for both agents." Thornley was by Skinner's 
side. It was Skinner's assertiveness and determination that had gotten 
him where he was in the bureau and he didn't think there was much that 
could stop him now. These two agents meant something to him, that was 
certain. Thornley just had to make sure the next step they took was 
based on skill and experience and not emotions.

"Walt, listen to me." They were at the tent and Skinner was 
frantically searching the room for something. Thornley ignored his 
questioning glances and continued talking. "I know you care about 
these two agents. All the more reason why we need to handle this 
carefully. We act too quickly, without thinking things through and it 
might cost them their lives." Thornley wasn't getting through. 

Skinner had apparently found what he was looking for. The Phone. He 
held up the receiver and began dialing a number.

"What are you doing? Who are you calling?"

"The Attorney General. Just as a formality at this point. To tell her 
we're going in."

Thornley just stood there, staring at his friend. He wasn't mad at 
him. Actually, he admired what he was doing. His resolve. It took a 
lot of balls to call the Attorney General at three in the morning just 
to *tell* her what you were going to do. He wished he could be a fly 
on the wall in Janet's bedroom when she answered the phone.

Skinner was waiting to be put through, contemplating his next move, 
when he looked up at Thornley and appeared to notice him for the first 
time. "She's pregnant," he said somberly. "Scully's pregnant."

Spencer Thornley stared at Walter Skinner's emotionless face for a 
long time before finding a chair he could collapse into. He barely 
heard Skinner shouting into the phone. "I don't give a damn about 
protocol or Waco and even less about the fact that it's an election 
year. These are two of my best agents. Two people that have risked 
their lives and lost a lot on a personal level in the name of our 
glorified country. It's time we take some responsibility here..."

Thornley didn't need to hear anything else. He stood up and went 
outside. Time to gather the team, he thought. He should have done this 
days ago.


End chapter seven

The Brotherhood
Chapter Eight

By Vickie Moseley,  vmoseley@fgi.net
and Esther Walker,   cenergy@earthlink.net


Inside the Compound
3:30 am

     Dana made her way gingerly down the rickety ladder.  It looked 
ancient and she wondered how it had held her partner's weight, much 
less that of any of the larger men of the group.  Only she, Dixie and 
Jacobs had yet to make the descent and now it was her turn.  She 
looked down, and realized she had a good twenty feet to go before she 
reached the Coleman lanterns and Mulder waiting at the bottom.  The 
mine shaft was fairly large, at least ten feet across.  It's just a 
basement, she tried to convince herself.  A very big, very narrow, 
very long basement.

     Damn you, Bill Jr, she cursed silently.  If her older brother had 
never locked her in the basement as a small child, she never would 
have discovered how horrible small tight places could be.  Usually, 
claustrophobia was the last thought on her mind.  When they were on a 
case, she was always too intent on doing her job to worry about it.  
But with all the worrying she was currently doing, the fear seemed to 
rise to the top, like oil on water.  She tried to shove it to the back 
of her mind, but it kept popping up and making it's presence known.

     Getting Mulder down the ladder had been no small feat.  She knew 
his ribs were causing him a lot of pain and as she watched his 
incredibly slow progress down, she saw him waver a time or two and 
feared he would pass out.  He made it, though and was watching her 
descent anxiously.  She shook her head at the thought that he was as 
worried about her claustrophobia as she was worried about his broken 
bones.  We're like a matched set of bookends, she thought.

     She could see Dixie above her, starting down the ladder.  The old 
woman was an enigma.  She looked to be at least 60, but her eyes were 
much younger, even cutting through the grief that hung about her like 
a shroud.  And agile.  She was literally hopping down the rungs of the 
ladder, and probably would have slid down the sides, fireman style, if 
Scully had not been in the way.  Hope I'm that agile when I'm 60, 
Scully thought as she stumbled slightly before finding the next rung.  
Hope I'm alive when I'm 60, she added ruefully.  The floor was getting 
closer, and the small confines were beginning to press in on her 
again.

     Dana stepped off the last rung and almost froze for the sheer 
wave of fear that engulfed her.  Sensing her terror, Mulder reached 
out and touched her hand.  He wanted desperately to take her in his 
arms, shush all the horrifying thoughts running through her mind, but 
that would only draw attention to them.  As it was, the motion looked 
almost gentlemanly.  He looked to be steadying her on the rough mine 
floor.  The faint smile that crossed her face told him that it had 
been enough.  Message received, loud and clear.  He had to grin as he 
saw that business like gaze come to her eyes as she regarded their 
surroundings.

     Dixie took almost no time to join them.  "How are you doing?" she 
whispered to Mulder, glancing up the ladder to see if Jacobs was close 
enough to hear her.

     "Just like a ride at Disney World," he quipped, but he was 
favoring the side with the damaged ribs.  The old woman gave him a 
disgusted shake of her head to let him know that his humor wasn't 
appreciated.  Scully gave him a look as well, but he caught the 
twinkle in her eye in the glow of the lantern.

     They didn't have time for more conversation as Jacobs jumped the 
last three rungs and landed on the stone floor beside them.  "You up 
for a walk, Feddie?  I could always make arrangements for you to stay 
behind," he snarled and punctuated his feeble attempt at humor with a 
grim laugh.

     "I'm fine," Mulder said evenly.  In reality, he hurt like hell, 
but he was never going to admit that to Jacobs.  He had a dull 
throbbing in in his head.  His eyes burned with the fever he was just 
beginning to recognize.  Every breath was agony.  It was taking every 
ounce of strength to stand, much less move, but he kept thinking of a 
promise he had made not that long ago.  My baby girl is going to have 
a father, no ifs, ands, or buts, he vowed silently.  Besides, this 
bastard would enjoy it too much if he had an excuse to kill me and I'm 
not going to give him the satisfaction, he added with grim 
determination.

      Jacobs jabbed him in the ribs, just to see the reaction.  Mulder 
let out a gasp, but stayed on his feet, glaring at the madman.  "Well, 
then, let's get moving.  Those old floorboards I laid in place up 
there aren't gonna hold 'em off forever."  Stooping over, he picked up 
the last remaining lantern and waved it in the general direction that 
Bob and Henry had led the rest of the group.  At the first wooden 
beamed support, Jacobs picked up an ax that was waiting there for him, 
and collapsed the sides and the overhead beam, then made a run for it.  
Several tons of dirt and rock crashed to the mine floor, effectively 
sealing off their escape.


Outside the Compound
4:00 am

     It had been silent for too long.  Walter Skinner had been 
gripping the binoculars in his hands so tightly that he wasn't sure he 
could loosen his grasp on them if he had to.  He turned to Thornley.

     "There's another damn exit," he hissed in frustration.

     "Where?" Thornley demanded.  "Thin air?  I tell you Walter, I've 
been to the Department of Mines and Minerals twice and there are no 
mine entrances in this area.  They must be in the basement or 
something."

     "Why would they all go down to the basement, Spence?  No, they're 
escaping.  And they have my agents hostage.  Tell your men we're going 
in."  Skinner put the binoculars back up to his tired eyes, ignoring 
the disgusted look on his friend's face.  

     In the end, the storming of the Yeoman Brotherhood Compound was a 
complete bust.  It was deserted, just as the Assistant Director had 
predicted.  Worse yet, it took the FBI over two hours before one of 
the agents was able to find the ladder leading down into the mine 
under the false floor in one of the bedrooms.  That too, proved to be 
a useless discovery, since Jacobs had successfully pulled down a mine 
support structure, closing the shaft just a few feet from the ladder.  
Regardless of where the shaft might lead the Brotherhood, they would 
not be returning to the compound by that route, and the FBI would not 
be following them at any time in the near future.
 



Three hours later

     Dixie fell back to walk next to Jacobs after having spent most of 
the march at the head of the line.  She made a point of ignoring 
Mulder, who was obviously having a difficult time putting one foot in 
front of the other.  Scully had taken it upon herself to help him, but 
even she was looking weighed down by his efforts.

     "We need to stop and rest," Dixie said calmly.

     "Why?  Your G-man slowing down?  Maybe I could put him outta his 
misery," Jacobs suggested with an evil leer.  He lifted the almost 
empty bottle to his lips and drained the amber fluid down his throat.

     "No," Dixie said defiantly.  "It's Bo.  He needs to be layin' 
flat for a spell.  That trip down the ladder over Henry's shoulder 
wasn't that good for him.  And Bob can't figure out how to keep his 
litter on the level.  He keeps raising up his feet higher than his 
head.  Any idiot knows that's not the way to handle a man with a head 
pain," she spat out.  Dixie had grown to hate Bob almost as much as 
Jacobs, if for no other reason than that the man was dumb and 
spineless and would do anything he was ordered to do.

     Jacobs considered this information for a moment.  The support he 
had destroyed back at the ladder had effectively cut off all pursuit.  
They could afford to rest a bit.  

     "There's a cavern up a piece.  Go back up to the front and tell 
Bob that we'll stop there for a spell, let everyone get some sleep.  
Tell him to take first watch.  I'm needing some sleep myself," he 
added.  Dixie nodded, totally noncommittal and headed off to relay the 
message to Bob.

     The cavern was indeed just a few hundred yards up the path.  It 
had a high ceiling, littered with stalactites and was about 50 feet by 
50 feet, roughly.  Water ran down the walls and collected in small 
pools before disappearing into the cracks in the floor.  Dana steered 
Mulder over to one wall, which appeared to be relatively dry.  He sank 
to a sitting position gratefully.

     Without hesitation, he put his hand in the trickle of water and 
tasted it.  "It's OK, you can drink it," he assured her.  He cupped 
his hand and drank greedily.

     She followed his example, drinking several palmsful of water.  
"And what would you have done if it hadn't been?" she asked 
accusingly, when her thirst was satisfied.

     "Can we wait till we get out of this to fight, Scully?  I mean, 
I'm not in my best form and I really hate to waste my breath arguing 
over whether I should have tasted the water or let you taste the 
water."  He closed his eyes and shifted until he was lying more or 
less flat on the rock floor.

     She glanced furtively around at the others.  They all appeared to 
be settling down, ignoring the two hostages for the moment.  She and 
Mulder didn't merit a lantern, so they were in shadow.  She took the 
opportunity to risk brushing the matted hair from Mulder's forehead.

     "Don't let them catch you doing that," he whispered, letting her 
know that he was not asleep.

     "I won't," she promised.  "You get some rest.  I'll keep an eye 
out."

     "You need to rest, too, you know," he countered.

     "I thought you said you didn't want to fight, Mulder," she 
intoned in his ear.  Even so, she slid down the rock wall and lay on 
the floor on her side.  He opened one eye to look at her.  "Nothing 
says I can't keep an eye out laying down," she said and was happy to 
see him grin as he shifted and settled in.

8:25 am

     Jacobs had been too drunk to dream at first, but gradually the 
haze lifted and he fell into REM sleep.  His dreams weren't worthy of 
remembering, mostly snatches of his own delusions of grandeur.  But 
his dreamscape began to change subtly.  He found himself on a valley 
floor.  All around him were majestic mountains, snowcapped, 
intimidating in their enormity.  The sun was just about to peek out 
behind one of the ridges and the shadows it cast gave the valley 
meadow and it's early morning mist a ghostly glow.  

     Jacobs was just looking, coming to understand where he was when 
he heard the first sound.  It was horses hooves.  Many horses.  They 
were sounding closer with each passing second, they were at a full 
run.  He looked up in front of him and saw them, coming through the 
pass between two mountain ridges.  Horses.  At least 50 of them.  Each 
with a rider.

     As the horses and riders approached, he began to distinguish them 
better.  The riders wore rough brown clothing, buckskin adorned with 
feathers.  He could gradually see faces, marked with color.  Angry.  
Screaming, waving their arms, the riders were obviously on the attack.  
At that moment, John Jacobs knew fear.  The attack was centered on him 
and him alone.

     Jacobs' own scream brought everyone in the cavern awake.  He 
bolted up and paced the floor, ignoring the repeated questions of his 
men.  Jacobs was an arrogant man and saw any weakness in another 
individual as a chance for him to gain an upper hand.  He did not 
appreciate the fact that his men had now seen him in a weakened 
position.  It fed his anger even as the dream continued to feed his 
fear.  Since he could not take his frustrations out on any of his men, 
he turned to the only outlet available:  the FBI agent lying on the 
floor, groggily coming awake.

     Jacobs strolled over to where Mulder was laying and with a gleam 
in his eyes, viciously kicked the weaker man as hard as he could in 
the back.  It felt so good, Jacobs did it again and again.  Scully 
shouted a protest, but Jacobs couldn't hear her.  He was too deep in 
enjoyment to hear anything but Mulder's gasps of pain.  Then something 
was in his way and Jacobs started to kick out at it, only to find 
Dixie clutching his hands in a vise-like grip and screaming at him to 
stop.

     "You stupid bastard, you're killin' him!" she was shouting and 
everyone in the room was deathly silent, wondering what John would do 
next.  He stopped kicking and stared at her.  Slowly, he balled his 
fist and raised it to strike at the tiny woman before him.  Her 
grey-blue eyes glared icily at him, but she didn't back down an inch.  
If anything, she drew herself up even straighter and as much as dared 
him to take a swing.

     They stood that way for an incredibly long time.  Finally, Jacobs 
got control of himself.  "Get out of my way, you dumb bitch," he 
hissed.  But he lowered his hand to his side.  "I said, GET OUT OF THE 
WAY!" he roared.

     "NO!" she roared in return.  "I will not let you kill this man!  
He has done nothing to you.  And he ain't worth nothing dead," she 
added loudly, for the benefit of all those assembled.  Although none 
of them spoke, there were many silent nods in agreement.  An eye for 
an eye was one thing, and the agent that had been killed had been 
armed.  His life for Jeremiah's, that was a fair trade.  To kill a 
second agent in cold blood, that was more than many of the men were 
prepared for.

     Jacobs stared at her, utterly confused that she would dare stand 
up to him.  Slowly, his befuddlement was replaced with hatred, but he 
held it in check.  "One of these days, old woman, you gonna loose that 
luck you been carryin'," he purred for only her ears.  He was even 
more angry when Dixie met his glare with one of challenge in her own 
eyes.

     "Too late, John.  It run out the minute I met you," she hissed in 
return and then knelt down to examine the damage that had been 
inflicted on Agent Mulder.

     "We're moving out after we get some food in us.  Get him moving, 
too, Dixie," Jacobs growled.  "Otherwise, I still got a bullet with 
his name on it."

     Dixie glared up at the towering man for a second, but nodded 
slowly.  At this point, it was just a threat, but not entirely an idle 
one.  Jacobs might not have the full support of his men when it came 
to killing the agent, but with a little thought, he could find an 
excuse to sway them.  Dixie didn't let her eyes leave Jacobs until he 
had wandered over to the opposite side of the cavern to confer with 
Bob and a few of the men.

     "How bad is it?" she asked, letting her attention snap back to 
Mulder and Dana the minute she was sure Jacobs was occupied.

     Dana was running her hand gently over his back, noting his 
reaction.  "He probably bruised the kidney.  I don't think it's 
bleeding, but there's no real way to tell in here," Scully seethed, 
wanting no more than to have her gun and have it out with Jacobs.

     "Don't let him get to you, honey," Dixie instructed.  "He wants 
you two to make a wrong move.  Right now, you're just a girl who 
walked into the wrong place at the wrong time.  If you let him get you 
riled, you risk losing Mulder, here, as well as yourself and that 
baby.  Don't make that mistake."  Dixie's voice was soft, but 
controlling.  Dana nodded her head once in understanding.  "Now, to 
answer my other question:  is he gonna be able to walk?"

     A soft groan escaped Mulder, who rolled onto his back.  "Yes," he 
said in a strained voice.  "But how much longer are we going to be in 
here?  Dixie, do you have any idea where we're being taken?"

     "Not really.  Jeremiah helped John chart these tunnels.  It was 
an old 'mom and pop' copper mine that never really panned out.  Mostly 
just tunnels connecting caverns, like this one.  There are a couple of 
airholes that Jeremiah talked of, but I couldn't tell you if there was 
more than one entrance.  We could wander these tunnels for years and 
never be found, but the food'll more'n likely run out by tomorrow 
morning.  These men don't go too far on empty stomachs.  I 'spect 
John's figuring on going out the entrance and then making a run for it 
in the mountains.  At least there's food to be found out there and 
we'll be far enough from the compound that the Feddies won't find us."  
Dixie sat for a moment, silently thinking.  "He's running scared, 
that's fer sure."

     "Running scared of what?  The FBI?" Dana asked, never looking up 
as she wrapped Mulder's ribcage in bandages, covering the almost dry 
flannel cloth.

     "No, something else," Dixie said softly.  "If'n I didn't know 
better, I'd say ole John's got himself a ghost chasin' him.  That 
nightmare he had, it was more fear than meanness that he was kickin' 
at you with," she said, gently patting Mulder's leg.

     "Actually," Mulder started, but caught Scully's disapproving 
glare.  He chose to ignore it and plowed ahead.  "Dixie, did you know 
the compound is on the site of a Blackfoot Indian Burial Ground?"

     "You believe in that nonsense?" she asked, shaking her head.

     "You believe that plants can cure people," he countered 
pointedly.

     "Only because I've seen it, boy.  Not because I listened to a 
bunch of superstitious nonsense that's only to scare younguns into 
goin' to bed at night," she snapped back.

     Mulder couldn't help but notice the faint smile on Scully's lips.  
Score one for the women, he sighed.  "Then how do you explain the 
rock?" he asked, first looking at Dixie, then at Dana.  Both women 
exchanged nervous glances.  "I thought so," he nodded, satisfied with 
this small victory.  "Well, when you two come up with your 'reasonable 
explanation', please let me in on it," he sighed and pushed himself up 
into a sitting position.  "Till then, Dixie, you got any more of that 
snakebite medicine on you?  It's the only thing that helped."

     Dixie smiled and pulled out a beat up old thermos.  "I filled it 
up before I left.  Just for you and Bo.  You might look in on Bo in a 
bit, Dana.  He's feeling better, but I don't want him off'n that 
litter till you look him over."  Dixie didn't miss the look of 
hesitation on Dana's face.  "It's all right, child.  This uns too 
skinny for me.  I'll keep the other women folk off him for ya, though" 
she joked.  It was enough to make Dana smile and go over to check on 
Bo.

     "So what's in this stuff again, Dixie?" Mulder asked after he had 
sipped the requisite amount under her supervision.

     "Arnica.  It's wild.  Now, I don't want you thinking you can just 
pick up any ole leaf and start chewin' it, ya hear," she said sternly.  
"My Gran, she spent a whole summer teachin' me the right ones and the 
wrong ones.  Just like with mushrooms, the wrong one can kill you and 
it looks just a purty as the one that won't.  But arnica shouldn't be 
taken too often.  It can kill you, too."

     "And the stuff on my arm?" he asked.  His arm was starting to 
itch unbearably, but so far he had managed to leave it alone.

     "Purple cornflower.  Indians swore by it.  Best thing to ward off 
an infection.  How's the arm feelin'?" she asked, taking it and 
squinting at the bandages in the dim light of the distant lantern.

     "It itches," he admitted.

     "Good!  It's healin'," she replied.  "Don't scratch it," she 
ordered.  "You get banged up quite a bit, don't ya?"

     Mulder was glad the light was low so Dixie couldn't see him 
blush.  "I've had my share of work related injuries," he said with 
dignity.

     "No wonder she married ya.  Probably figgered it was easier to 
take care o' ya that way," Dixie whispered with a gentle laugh at his 
expense.

FBI Regional Office
Billings, Montana
8:45 am

     "Furthermore, there will be no more 'middle of the night' phone 
calls to the AG, am I making myself clear?!" the disembodied voice 
fairly shouted out of the speaker phone.

     Walter Skinner cringed.  "Crystal clear, sir," he answered.  It 
took every ounce of strength he had to resist faxing his resignation.  
This assignment had gone from bad to worse to hell in a handbasket, 
and now *he* was getting called on the carpet for calling the Attorney 
General.  She said she didn't want another Waco, he thought angrily.  
She said she wanted to be kept informed.

     The Director's words were ringing in his head.  Proper channels.  
He, Walter Skinner, Mr. I Know the Chain of Command, had failed to use 
proper channels.  Fat lot of good it did me, he mused.  It still took 
too long and Jacobs still slipped away.  That's it, he decided.  If we 
find them alive, Mulder and Scully are both being shipped off to Bank 
Fraud and they'll become someone else's nervous breakdown.

     He stared down at the half empty, bone cold coffee cup and in a 
fit of self flagellation, gulped it down.  Another twelve hours of 
this slop and *I'll* go to Bank Fraud and let Mulder take *my* job in 
VC.  A knock at the door interrupted that thought.

     "Walt," Spence Thornley said stepping into the office.  "You all 
right?"

     "Yeah," he lied.  "No holes that weren't already there.  They're 
just a little larger now," he quipped and rubbed a hand across his 
forehead.  "What's the word on the helicopters from the state police?"

     "They'll be ready to go in a half an hour, but there's a storm 
front moving across the mountains.  Could make the weather dicy for 
the better part of the morning.  And Walter, you know we're still 
talking a long shot here.  They could be all the way to Canada before 
they surface," Thornley sighed.

     Skinner closed his eyes.  He was so tired.  "Then I suggest you 
import some coffee, Spence.  If I have to drink anymore of this mud, 
I'm liable to turn homicidal."

     His friend gave him a sympathetic smile.  "Oh, by the way, you've 
gotten a couple of phone calls," he said, handing over a small stack 
of pink sheets.  "Remember, it's two hours earlier in DC.

     "Shit.  These are mostly reporters!  I don't remember. . ."

     "Yeah, well, neither do I.  Apparently though, the 'raid' was on 
CNN this morning.  Unbelievable, but the bastards actually stayed out 
of the way this time.  Maybe Waco *did* teach them something.  But 
there's one toward the bottom of the stack that you might want to 
return."

     "Damn it," Skinner cursed when he say who the message was from.  
Margaret Scully.  And she had been calling every hour since the first 
report on the television.  

     "I recognized the last name.  Dana's mom, I take it?" Thornley 
asked.  Skinner nodded and picked up the phone.  He looked up at his 
friend, apology in his face.  

     "Spence, can I handle this one alone?"  Skinner's eyes begged his 
friend for indulgence.

     "Sure, Walt.  I'll go see if I can put a fire under those birds," 
he said with a wave of his hand.  "Good luck, Walt," he added as he 
shut the door.

In the Mine Cavern
Day two, 9:00 am

     John Jacobs had called a meeting.  That meant that the men all 
gathered around him and listened to his edicts and then nodded in 
agreement and did exactly as they were told.  The women waited 
patiently by themselves.  This time, they were joined by one male, 
Special Agent Fox Mulder.

     "Any clue as to what he's talking about?" Mulder asked Dixie 
quietly, while she applied more cornflower petals to his burn.

     "Where we're headed, I 'spect.  The boys were hungry this 
morning.  There's not enough food for another meal.  We gotta go to 
ground to do a little huntin'.  I think John wants out of the caverns, 
too," she added, chewing on her lip.  "You've been good, so far.  Just 
stay clear of him, OK?"

     "Dixie, I need to talk to him.  If we leave these tunnels, you 
can bet that we'll be walking into an ambush.  They probably consider 
you women to be unwilling hostages at this point.  And kidnapping a 
Federal Officer, *two* Federal Officers, is a major crime.  The FBI is 
not going to let us walk to Canada, no matter what Jacobs thinks.  
Maybe, if he lets me go first, I can at least make sure nobody dies," 
Mulder said anxiously, his eyes flashing over to Scully for a second 
before turning back to gaze at Dixie.

     Dixie thought about it for a moment.  "He's sober.  But I don't 
know that's much of an improvement.  I think that dream last night has 
him spooked so bad, he'd kill just out of frustration.  I don't want 
that on my head," she said flatly.

     Dana caught Mulder's look and made a decision.  "Dixie, please.  
Mulder's right.  He's done this kind of thing before, talking to men 
who were scared.  He may not look like it now," she said with a wicked 
grin, "but he's actually a fairly decent psychologist when he isn't in 
traction.  Let him try, Dixie.  It might be our only chance at 
resolving this peacefully."


End chapter eight