From: 2Shy X-01001 Date: Mon, 19 Jul 1999 22:06:34 -0500 Subject: Fallout (Chapters 1-3/8) Title- Fallout (Chapter 1) Author- 2Shy X-01001 E-mail address- wausa@flash.net Rating- PG Category- X Spoilers- Fight the Future Keywords- None Summary- This picks up at an important place in the X-Files mythology. Original Post Date- January 29th, 1999 Archive- Gossamer; Any other potential archivists, please e-mail me for permission Disclaimer- Chris Carter created The X-Files and all of its included characters. Ten-Thirteen Productions and Twentieth Century Fox own The X-Files. I am just a lowly writer who worships Chris Carter and everything he does. Please don't take legal action! "FALLOUT: CHAPTER ONE" JUNE 29, 1998 WASHINGTON, D.C. 1:05 A.M. Sirens shrieked in the narrow alley as red fire trucks fought their way through the thick black smoke. Flames licked a metal mass, and a charred car door lay on the hot pavement. Tauntingly, hot bursts of fire shot out of the car, only to creep back through the windows. The searing heat washed over the firemen, who, even in their yellow suits, felt like they were sitting in an oven. A man who was oddly calm in his frantic surroundings quickly screwed the large hose onto a faded red fire hydrant. The water was turned on, and the hose whipped wildly from side to side as the powerful stream of water rushed through it. Deafening noise rang out as the fire was slowly defeated by its opponents. As suddenly as it had started, the chaos was over. Many minutes passed as the fireman waited for the wreckage to cool. Eventually, a firefighter crawled through the gaping door where the right rear door formerly resided. The putrid odor of burnt human flesh made him cringe, and through the smoke he could faintly see the outline of two bodies- one in the driver's seat, and one in the rear. Another man clad in yellow approached the car. "Whaddaya see, Tim?" "God," Tim gasped. "There's two... There's two dead in here." "Get out of there," the other man commanded him. "They'll clean it up later." "I'm coming," Tim replied as he started to back out of the car seat. Abruptly, he stopped, and peered back into the crispy interior. "Oh, my God," he whispered. Stumbling, he exited the car. "Johnny! Johnny!" "What?" The fire chief gave him a tired look. "I think... I think that someone is still alive in there." GEORGE WASHINGTON HOSPITAL 1:25 A.M. A gurney was rushed down the hall, slowing momentarily as the nurses guiding it backed trough white double-doors. "Blood pressure and pulse are drooping," an EMT frantically informed the ER doctor. "The skin is burned to the bone over most of the body." "Thank you." Dr. Jones nodded his appreciation. "O.K., people! Let's get to work. We have a life to save!" The gurney was rolled into the operating room, coming to a stop next to the operating table. "Let's all be careful on the transfer! One...two...three!" The elderly man was hoisted off of the gurney and placed on the operating table. "At this point, there's really no need to, but anesthetize the patient. There's so many damned malpractice suits these days." The doctor looked calmly at the man lying on the table. The sickly red face covered with heat blisters contrasted sharply with the bright blue eyes that pleaded with Dr. Jones. Quickly, the doctor looked away. "Scalpel," he forcefully stated, attempting to show no emotion, but it was evident to all that he was shaken. "I will remove the outer layers of the dermis, where possible so I'll need facial and body shields." Dr. Jones took a deep breath and began his work. 2:30 A.M. Once again, flashing lights bounced off the alley walls, but police cars had replaced the fire trucks. Detective Roarke stepped out of her forest green Ford Taurus and looked at the depressing sight. Her breath caught in her throat, but the overpowering stench made her cough. "Has forensics looked at this?" she asked. "No ma'am," an officer replied. "How about the fire department's investigators?" "That's their guy." The officer motioned towards a man examining the charred wreckage. "Thank you." Roarke nodded curtly and briskly walked to the investigator. "I'm Detective Roarke, Washington PD. Can you tell me what happened here?" "Nice to meet you Miss Roarke. I'm Ray Gash. Well," he said, turning to the wreckage, "It's obvious that an explosive device of some sort was used." Gash walked to the rear of the car, where the right back door should have been. "It's mostly been incinerated, but I can see the remains of wiring on this door frame here. And here," he pointed to two lighter colored spots on the doorframe, "I assume that two metallic discs were wired to ignite the device once the door shut. That might explain why only this door was blown clear off its hinges. I'm having my guys search for any signs of the discs." "I don't understand why the wiring wasn't completely burnt away." "Assuming that it had a nichrome interior, it would have been able to withstand thousands of degrees of heat." "I'd appreciate you keeping me up to date on your investigation, Mr. Gash." "I most certainly will, Miss Roarke," the investigator shook her hand heartily. "Thank you," she quickly replied and abruptly turned to leave. She had paused for one more look at the wreckage, when something caught her eye. Slowly, the detective peered in at the windshield. "Mr. Gash?" she called out. "Yes, ma'am?" the investigator replied, suddenly behind her. "What is this?" Roarke pointed to a large circular area on the windshield. Somewhat in shock, Sam Gash turned to the detective. "I've seen this before, when I was working with the police on an arson. I think the driver was dead before the explosion." Gash slowly made his way to the driver's window for a better look. "The fire would've removed all evidence you'd find on the body, but I would bet that man was shot in the back of the head before the fire. If it were done afterwards, the blood wouldn't have burned." "What you're saying fits with the where the bloodstain is located, but why?" Roarke shook her head in disbelief. "I mean, why kill one man, but leave another to live?" "I think that's a question you need to ask the survivor." GEORGE WASHINGTON HOSPITAL 3:16 A.M. Outside the Intensive Care Unit, Dr. Jones carried on a whispered conversation with Detective Roarke. Behind them, through the glass, the lone survivor of the bomb lay horribly burned in his hospital bed. "Honestly, there isn't much we can do for him. He probably won't live very much longer. It will be impossible to do any skin grafting, due to the extent of the damage. We have him under facial and body shields, but one bacterium could do him in. His internal body temperature is still so high that doubling time would be extremely fast, and he would be overrun by bacteria in probably less than 24 hours." "Will I be able to question him?" "Due to the high risk of contamination, the ICU is a sterile room. You'd have to wash down and change into scrubs. And, to top it off, his vocal cords were severely damaged when the upper dermis layers were burnt off. I'm not sure what his hearing capabilities are, either." "Well, doctor, I'd like to see him, no matter what it takes." "Right this way, then," the doctor stated, ushering her down the hall. 3:37 A.M. "Sir, can you hear me?" The old man nodded slowly, grimacing from the pain. "I need you to tell me what happened in the alley. Tell me what happened to you and what caused the explosion." Roarke was talking louder than necessary, but neither the patient or the doctor seemed to notice. "Can you tell me what happened to the driver? Was he shot?" The man said something, but it came out in a raspy voice too soft for anyone to hear. Roarke leaned over, her ear nearly touching his plastic facial shield. "Sir, I can't hear you. What did you say?" "Detective?" The doctor raised his eyebrows. "What is he saying?" Anne Roarke stood straight up and compassionately looked down at the patient- the Well-Manicured Man. "He said a name." She paused to turn to the doctor. "He said Mulder." ---END CHAPTER ONE--- Title- Fallout (Chapter 2) Author- 2Shy X-01001 E-mail address- wausa@flash.net Rating- PG Category- X Spoilers- The Pine Bluff Variant, The Field Where I Died, Momento Mori, Gethsemane, Redux Keywords- None Summary- Mulder becomes the center of the investigation into the bombing Original Post Date- February 1st, 1999 Archive- Gossamer can archive my pieces, but I always submit them myself. Anybody else who wants to archive a piece by me, please e-mail me for permission. Disclaimer- Chris Carter created The X-Files and its characters. Ten-Thirteen Productions and Twentieth Century Fox own The X-Files. If I had enough money, I'd buy the rights. Feedback is greatly appreciated. "FALLOUT: CHAPTER TWO" JULY 5, 1998 WASHINGTON PD HEADQUARTERS 1:05 P.M. "Try the civilian database." Detective Roarke intently watched the bright computer screen. In front of her, a technician rapidly typed in a command. The computer angrily beeped in response. "Nothing," the technician said. Roarke furrowed her brow, deep in thought. "We're probably barking up the wrong tree by looking domestically. If that man knew the bomber's name, it would have to have been an alias." The detective pursed her lips disgustedly. "Thanks for your help, but I think this is a dead end." "Well, while you're here, I could at least check the criminal offenders," the techie said, eager to help. "Sure, what the hell," Roarke called over her shoulder as she left. "Call me if anything comes up." PRESS CONFERENCE 2:00 P.M. "Please welcome the mayor of Washington, District of Colombia, Mr. Reginald Dreand." The usual slew of D.C. press waited, with videocameras and microphones recording. The mayor, dressed in a crisp navy blue suit, approached the podium. "I want to thank all of you for coming. We are here today to talk about a very serious problem that has been sweeping across the world, and is now hitting close to home. One week ago, a British diplomat was nearly killed in a car bombing in the heart of our city. I will not make any bold claims as to who is responsible for this atrocity. All I will say is that terrorism is something that we need to keep out of our city and protect our children from." Behind the mayor sat Detective Roarke, waiting for her turn to speak. As the Mayor continued his speech, the detective's cell phone rang in her pocket. She ducked off of the back of the platform to answer the call. "Hello?" she whispered, plugging her right ear. "Detective Roarke, I found your guy Mulder." "Where?" she asked, surprised. "He was under the government database- FBI agent Fox William Mulder. He spent time at Oxford, and graduated top of his class at Quantico. After starting out in the violent crimes unit, he was transferred to the X-Files division in 1993. And, to top it all off, he is currently residing in Alexandria, Virginia." "Thank you. I'll get right on that." Roarke hung up her phone, walked across the grass behind the podium and got into her car. "Is he one of our own, or are they already infiltrating our government?" she asked herself aloud. 2630 HEGAL PLACE ALEXANDRIA, VIRGINIA 3:13 P.M. Loud, persistent knocking woke Mulder out of a rare nap. "Yeah, yeah. I'm coming." He finally answered the door, only to be greeted by a badge. "Mr. Mulder, I am Detective Roarke, Washington PD. Can I ask you a few questions?" "Sure," he conceded tiredly. "Come on in." Mulder swung the door to apartment 42 wide open. The detective accepted his invitation. "Thank you," Roarke replied, her voice icy. "Please, have a seat." Mulder motioned to the couch. The detective sat down silently, and pulled out a small, green, spiral notepad. She stared at Mulder for a moment before speaking. "I know that you are an FBI agent, so I don't want to keep you in the dark about what is going on here." Mulder studied her face, trying to read some form of emotion, but his attempt failed. "About a week ago, a man was nearly killed in what appears to be a terrorist act. We have reason to believe you may be connected in some way with the victim, but he is comatose right now, so we cannot question him further." "What makes you think I would know someone who is a target for terrorists?" "I'm sure you understand that I cannot reveal everything about my investigation in case you turn into a suspect." Mulder seemed slightly offended by this comment. "All I can say is that it is starting to look like you are my only lead. I've got the mayor breathing down my neck, because he needs good press, but my department isn't worth much in the way of assistance. I know this puts you in an odd position, but I need your help in the form of resources and any information you can give me." Mulder seemed satisfied with this explanation. He was quite sure that she thought he was responsible for the bomb, but he knew that not helping would only make him look more guilty. "What do you need?" "I think it would be most helpful if you just answered my questions for now. Once I start to get an idea of where my investigation is headed, I may need your help. Right now, I need to know what you were doing early in the morning of June 29th." "Excuse me?" Mulder asked incredulously, any attempts at friendliness quickly forgotten. "I was in the hospital that night. I'm sure the records can prove that. Besides, I thought you wanted to know if I knew the victim, not whether or not I was committing criminal acts." Roarke scribbled in her notepad, and ignored his complaint. "Have you ever been in contact with any terrorist organizations?" Mulder bristled at the thought of his close encounter with the New Spartans. "No, I haven't." "Do you know how to make an explosive device?" Mulder angrily shook his head. "I'm sorry, but I don't feel comfortable with this. If you don't have a warrant to take me in, I'm not answering any more questions. I told you where I was on the night in question, and I'll be happy to help you in any way. I hate those terrorists bastards as much as the next American, but I had nothing to do with any criminal activity. As long as I'm a suspect, I'm through talking to you." He walked to the door and flung it open. "Thank you, detective," Mulder said through clenched teeth. "Have a nice day." Roarke glided out of the apartment, more determined than ever. Mulder slammed the door behind her and listened to her footsteps echo loudly down the hall. Slowly, he shuffled to the couch and sank down into its soft material. Sighing deeply, he buried his head in his hands and thought. Tears welled in his eyes, but he blinked them back. It hurt him to think about all he had almost lost, and all that he had lost while on his quest. Visions of Scully's sister, Melissa, had haunted him for years, along with the memory of his father. The self-loathing had ended after his ordeal with the Temple of the Seven Stars. The regression therapy helped him realize that Scully had always been with him, and that she always would be. When Scully was diagnosed with cancer, Mulder once again felt guilty. He knew that her disease was a result of her abduction, something which he also felt he could have prevented. He had gone hunting for the truth and a cure for her cancer, but instead found out that her ovum had been harvested. He was sure that the Syndicate had created a hybrid from Scully, but he didn't tell her. He thought it would only cause more pain and suffering for Scully if she knew that she had a child that could not ever be hers. Soon, he made the worst discovery of his life- that Scully had been given her disease to make him believe in the existence of alien life. For a whole night, he had contemplated killing himself and ending all of the hurt he had brought upon her. In his mind, he believed that had she never met him, Scully would be completely normal- no implant in her neck, no lost memories, and no hybrid child. Eventually, he had decided to place a bullet in his head. The gun was next to his temple when Kritschgau had called. It was the most important phone call of his life. As if on cue, his phone rang. Mulder rushed to his desk next to the window and jerked the receiver out of its cradle. "Yeah?" "Mr. Mulder?" "Speaking." "Mr. Mulder, this is Marita Covarrubias. I need to meet you immediately. I have important information about the car bombing, and about what Dr. Kurtzweil has told you." "They think I killed him, Marita. They think that I killed a man in cold blood and then blew up the evidence. You know the truth, don't you? The British man was an ally to me. That's why they killed him, didn't they? And Kurtzweil, too. I was getting too close." "Mr. Mulder," Marita cut him off in a tense voice. "As I said, I need to speak to you immediately. Both you and Agent Scully are in extreme danger. Meet me at the Smithsonian Museum entrance at 4:30. Do not talk to anyone. Do not ask any questions. You are so close to discovering the truth that these men will now stop at nothing. Your life is inconsequential when compared to the Project." Mulder began to speak but was cut short by the dial tone. Frantically, he threw on his jacket and grabbed his gun. He rushed into his living room and jammed his keys into his pocket. Suddenly, there was another knock at the door. "Detective Roarke, I'm not going to talk to you!" he yelled. "Agent Mulder," a hushed male voice carried through the door. "Open up. I need to speak with you." Irritated, Mulder stomped to the door and flung it open. "I don't have time right now!" he bellowed. Grinning slyly, Alex Krycek stared at Mulder. "You better make some time right now." Caught off guard, Mulder didn't have time to react as a gun barrel was shoved into his chest. "Back inside, now," Krycek calmly ordered. ---END CHAPTER TWO--- Title- Fallout (Chapter 3) Author- 2Shy X-01001 E-mail address- wausa@flash.net Rating- PG Category- X Spoilers- Fight the Future, The Red and the Black, The End, Momento Mori Keywords- None Summary- The Syndicate takes action Original Date of Posting- February 7th, 1999 Archive- Gossamer can archive all of my pieces. Anyone else that wants to archive something of mine, please e-mail me and ask for permission. Disclaimer- Chris Carter is the creator of Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, William Skinner, Alex Krycek, the Syndicate, and all of the other greatest TV characters of all time. Ten-Thirteen Productions and Twentieth Century Fox own the rights to these characters and The X-Files. I do not intend to make any profit for myself or anyone else by writing these pieces. If Fox sees this as copyright infringement, then they can sue me. I'm sure the money sucker... uh... Ruport Murdoch doesn't really need my small amount of money anyway. There are scenes in "Fallout: Part Three" that are taken nearly verbatim from Fight the Future. I have added my own descriptive takes on the situation, and have added lines and details that deal with facts set down in parts one and two. The use of these scenes is only to give readers an idea of where the story fits in chronologically with the movie, since dates were not given. I do not personally see this as copyright infringement or plagiarism, but if anyone feels differently, please e-mail me. "FALLOUT: CHAPTER THREE" JULY 5, 1998 LONDON, ENGLAND 3:15 P.M. EASTERN STANDARD TIME "Our plans are not as effective as anticipated," a heavily accented voice told the group around him. "Our colleague did not die in the blast, and Mulder has become reinvested in his quest. He saved his partner and saw our Antarctic craft." Strughold worriedly scanned the faces of the Syndicate. "He must immediately be discredited so as not to expose the Project." "It's already been done," a voice calmly assured him. Strughold turned to face the man, who took a long drag on his Morley cigarette. "As we speak, Mulder is the center of an investigation into the bombing. Miss Covarrubias is keeping me informed of any progress." "How do we know you won't fail us again?" the First Elder asked. "You underestimate me," the Cigarette-Smoking Man replied, with a hint of mockery in his voice. "I know how to play the game. You must falter once in a while to give your opponent a false sense of security. Then, that is when you take advantage of their weaknesses and go for the kill." "You've made these empty promises before. You nearly killed Agent Fowley and jeopardized that plan." The First Elder's low, raspy voice struck a chord with the other Syndicate members. "Agent Fowley's life was never in danger. I only chose the best marksman, something which you apparently have yet to master." The First Elder sat up straight at the reference to the botched attempts to kill Gibson Praise and the Smoking Man. Strughold saw the opportunity, and quickly steered the conversation back on track. "I do not care who does it, but we need this problem solved in a timely manner. The death count is not a concern. We must protect the Project and find the E.B.E. at any cost." 2630 HEGAL PLACE ALEXANDRIA, VIRGINIA 3:19 P.M. "I'm surprised a one-armed man could get the drop on you that easily, Mulder." "I didn't get much sleep last night," Fox said sourly. The blinds were down in the drab apartment, casting a shadowy stillness across the room. Krycek stood next to the well used TV, pointing a small black handgun at Mulder, who once again was sitting on the couch. "I'm here today as a friend," Krycek informed him. "You aren't going to kiss me, are you?" Mulder grinned wryly at his enemy. Krycek ignored the wisecrack and continued. "The bodies you saw are only the beginning. Those organisms can gestate, although I'm sure you figured that out on your little vacation." "What I saw is gone. No one will believe me, and I know that everything is being taken away. There will be no proof to find." "That's where you are wrong. Blackwood is not the only place where an outbreak has occurred. There were seventeen more confirmed cases of the Black Oil in Alamo, North Dakota. If someone doesn't stop this, we will have another pandemic, and the alien colonists will be overrunning the globe." Mulder eyed Krycek skeptically. "Why are you here telling me this?" Krycek's eyes burned with intensity. "I don't want to be a slave race to the aliens when the time comes. The men I used to work for had the same goal, but they are living in the past. We cannot work with the colonists if we are to insure our survival. I have told you that we must resist or serve. I am doing all that I know how to resist this oppression. I have stolen the Russian vaccine, but it was a weak strain. My hope is that with this information you will be able to help me." "You want me to help you?" Mulder laughed at the situation. "You killed my father and Scully's sister, and you want me to help you?" "I'm coming here and begging you. I was ordered to kill your father and to kill Scully. I am not proud of my actions, but if I didn't do it, I would have been killed. In fact," Krycek said, getting angry, "After I stole the digital tape, they tried to kill me in a car bomb. Does that sound like anyone you know?" he asked sarcastically. "Fine," Mulder agreed. "I'll go, if you give me the vaccine." "I don't have any more of it." "For some reason, I don't believe you." Krycek cocked the gun. "That's not a good stand to take in your current position." Mulder gave up. "Okay, but I'm not leaving until tomorrow. Scully has to speak before the OPR in the morning." "Wise decision," Krycek stated, and holstered his gun. "I'll stay in touch." He strode to the door and let himself out. Mulder got to his feet and raised the blinds. He looked out the window and almost immediately spotted the gray, rusty van sitting at the end of the alley. Enraged, he turned and went to his closet. He dug around until his fingers wrapped around the hard rubber exterior of his binoculars. Mulder slammed the closet door and trudged to the window. Looking through the binoculars, he could faintly make out a figure in the driver's seat. The man turned to look at Mulder's window, and saw that he was being watched. The van sputtered to life, and it flew out of the alley, tires squealing as it rounded the corner. Despite the fact that he only got a quick glimpse of the driver, Mulder recognized him. It was the man who had shot him the night of the bombing. SMITHSONIAN MUSEUM WASHINGTON, D.C. 4:35 P.M. Mulder arrived at the Smithsonian after taking a roundabout route. He had driven in circles, and doubled back to make sure that neither the assassin or Krycek were following him. He scanned the crowd until his eyes came to rest upon a blond woman reading a newspaper. Calmly, Mulder approached her. She glanced over the top of her paper and saw him coming. "You're late," she chided him. "Sorry. I had an unexpected appointment." They entered the museum silently. Mulder constantly scrutinized the faces around him, on the lookout for anyone that seemed even slightly familiar. "Why did you need to see me?" he finally asked. "As I said on the phone, I have information about the bomb and Dr. Kurtzweil." Marita paused for a few seconds before continuing. "You were expected to die in the blast. When you entered the car, the driver activated a switch that made the car explode the next time the door was shut. The British man was to kill you and then leave the car with the driver. Your body would've been burnt to a crisp, and the signs of the shooting incinerated in the fire." "That man saved my life at the cost of his own," Mulder whispered, somewhat in shock. Marita continued, "The fact that you are the main suspect in the bombing is just some consolation to these men. You can be sure there will be more attempts on your life. What Kurtzweil told you makes you a threat to them." "What do you know about him?" "Kurtzweil knew about FEMA, but he didn't know about the biggest problem." "Which is what?" Mulder stared into Marita's eyes, hoping for an answer. "The Black Oil was originally seen in the United States in 1919. The Spanish Flu was sweeping across the world at the time, so a little outbreak of the Oil seemed like nothing compared to the pandemic. The CDC sent a small team to Montana to control the problem. The death count was only 107, and the virologists were glad there was no reassortment of the Spanish Flu or the Black Oil. In 1940, it showed up again. Three thousand were killed in Zimbabwe, but everyone was focused on World War II. Once again, it was the CDC that stopped the deaths. After the Zimbabwe epidemic, the only remaining samples of the Black Oil were kept in the CDC's Hot Room, where Ebola and the other big killers are." "If the CDC had the only samples left in the world, then how did it reemerge now?" Mulder asked, confused. "In the early, 1980's, Russia wanted another weapon to compliment its nuclear warheads. The KGB sent spies to the CDC to steal a sample of the Black Oil. Once they had it, they developed a vaccine. If all Russians had the vaccine they would be immune to the Black Oil's effects when it was released." "If that's true, then why are you and I alive?" Mulder challenged her. "Apparently, the disease stayed dormant for nearly a decade and underwent some form of reassortment. The new strain causes an E.B.E. to gestate in the stomach of the infected person." "So, what you're saying..." Mulder trailed off mid-sentence. Down the corridor, he saw the ambulance driver that had shot him. "I have to go, Marita," he said, and briskly walked ahead of her. She watched him leave, and then approached the assassin. "What did you tell him?" the Close-Cropped Man asked. "Only what they told me to say," she lied. 4:57 P.M. Mulder thought hard as he drove out of Washington. He hadn't seen the man walk into the museum. It was as if the man had been there, waiting for him. Slowly, it all came together in his head. The man knew he had called 911 for Scully, and he knew about the meeting with Marita. That could mean only one thing- his phone was bugged. JULY 6, 1998 FBI OFFICE OF PROFESSIONAL REVIEW WASHINGTON, D.C. 9:21 A.M. "In light of the report I've got before me- in light of the narrative I'm now hearing, my official report is incomplete, pending these new facts that I'm being asked to reconcile. Agent Scully, though there's now direct evidence now that a federal agent may have been involved in the bombing, the other events you've laid down here are too incredible on their own, and, quite frankly, implausible in their connection." Assistant Director Jana Cassidy looked unsympathetically at Dana Scully. "What do you find incredible?" Scully asked, barely concealing her disgust. "Well," the AD replied, with a hint of sarcasm. "Where would you like me to start?" Scully stared straight ahead, still fighting her emotions. "So many of the events described in your report defy belief. Antarctica is a long way from Dallas, Agent Scully. I can't very well submit a report to the Attorney General that alleges the links you've made here." Cassidy paused, thinking. "Bees and corn crops do not quite fall under the rubric of domestic terrorism." Scully flinched at this reminder of Mulder's situation. "No, they don't." "Most of what I find in here is lacking a coherent picture of any organization with an attributable motive." Cassidy once again paused and looked at Scully with concern. "I realize the ordeal you've endured has clearly affected you, though the holes in your account leave this panel with little choice but to delete these references from our final report to the Justice Department until which time hard evidence becomes available that would give us cause to pursue such an investigation." Slowly, Scully rose from her table and approached the panel. She eased her hand into her coat pocket and removed a small vial containing a dead bumblebee. She confidently placed it in front of the Assistant Director. "I don't believe the FBI currently has an investigative unit qualified to pursue the evidence in hand," she calmly informed Cassidy, and then turned to leave. 10:39 A.M. Scully briskly walked to the park bench where Mulder was sitting. He handed a folded newspaper to Scully. "There's an interesting work of fiction on page twenty-four. Mysteriously, our names have been omitted." She took the paper without reading the headline. "FATAL HANTA VIRUS OUTBREAK IN NORTHERN TEXAS CONTAINED" was printed in neat block letters. "They're burying this thing, Scully. They're just going to dig a new hole and cover it up." "You're wrong, Mulder. I just told OPR everything I know. What I experienced. The virus. How it's been spread by bees from pollen in transgenic crops-" Mulder stood angrily and walked away. His partner followed close behind. "You're wasting you're time, Scully. They'll never believe you. Why would they? Not if your story can't be programmed, categorized, or easily referenced-" "Well then, we'll go over their heads." "No." Mulder shook his head. "How many times have we been here before, Scully?" he asked, frustrated. "Right here. So close to the truth? And now with what we've seen and what we know, to be right back here at the beginning with nothing?" "This is different, Mulder." "No, it isn't. You were right to want to quit. You were right to want to leave me. You should get as far away from me as you can. I'm not going to watch you die, Scully because of some hollow personal cause of mine. Go be a doctor. Go be a doctor while you still can." "I can't. I won't. Mulder, I'll be a doctor, but my work is here with you now. That virus that I was exposed to, whatever it was, it has a cure. You held in your hand. How many other lives can we save?" Scully took Mulder's hand in hers and gazed up at him. "If I quit now, they win." They stood silently for an unbearably long time before she continued. "Once again, I have to tell you that the truth is in me, and that is where I need to pursue it." "No, Scully." Mulder shook his head. "My source told me that the CDC has knowledge of this disease, and that they may have even eradicated it at one time. I think that you should go to Atlanta and see what you find at the CDC." He paused, disgusted with his next thought. "Who knows? Maybe we'll learn that Krycek has some good in him after all." Mulder suddenly walked away. Scully stood motionless, watching him go. Abruptly, he stopped and turned around. "But if we don't, I'll personally kill him." ---END CHAPTER THREE--- Title- Fallout (Chapter 4) Author- 2Shy X-01001 E-mail address- wausa@flash.net Rating- PG Category- X Spoilers- Fight the Future Keywords- None Summary- Mulder travels to Alamo, ND to investigate the outbreak. Original Date of Posting- February 11th, 1999 Archive- Gossamer and Xemplary can archive any of my pieces. Anyone else, please e-mail me for permission to archive. Disclaimer- I do not own the rights to The X-Files or its characters. If I was a professional author that actually *made* money, I'd buy the rights and then write 10 X-Files books a year. I would make millions of dollars off of hopelessly obsessed fans, and I would take over the world and make Bill Gates my slave boy. "FALLOUT: CHAPTER FOUR" JULY 7, 1998 ALAMO, NORTH DAKOTA 10:18 A.M. EASTERN STANDARD TIME Mulder walked out of his room at the small, ratty motel, wearing a large, yellow, bulky Haz-Mat suit. The day was bright and sunny, accompanied by a quiet calm. Although Alamo was an extremely small town, the silence was abnormally eerie. The town was dead, victimized by the Black Oil. Everyone was either in the hospital, infected, or locked in their homes, fearing for their lives. Getting a motel room was easy. The few tourists had fled the town after the first wave of the disease hit. Record keeping at the motel was lax, so Mulder couldn't track down those who had hastily left. This was a huge blow to containing the problem. If the Oil reached a metropolitan area, a pandemic would be sure to follow. With the advent of air travel, viruses instantly became a worldwide problem. There were no longer small outbreaks. Every virus was a potential epidemic. After a long drive from the Bismarck airport, Mulder had arrived at the Alamo Motel the previous night. The scared desk clerk brought him up to speed on the virus' progress. The small doctor's office was overflowing with patients, and the school gymnasium was doubling as a hospital. The pitifully tiny police force couldn't keep everyone in the town, so a few dozen possibly infected citizens had escaped to the outside world. Mulder had attempted to call the doctor, but the lines were down to prevent the news from spreading and possibly causing a nationwide panic. Now, standing in the glorious, yet depressing morning, he suddenly remembered his cell phone was turned off. Reaching into his trenchcoat, which was slung over his suit-covered shoulder, he pressed the Power button without looking, knowing its location from frequent use. If Mulder missed a call from Scully, it would mean lost lives. Refreshed from a good night's right, he strode confidently to his rental car, a blue Ford Taurus. He entered the car and put the key in the ignition, but hesitated, bracing himself for the chaos he was about to enter. The citizens, caught in a horrifying situation, would certainly be crazed and violent. They would want answers, and Mulder's bright yellow Haz-Mat suit would only draw more attention to himself. Since he had come unannounced, the agent knew that gaining access to the doctor's office would be difficult. He couldn't carry his badge inside the suit, so he hoped that the desperate doctors would welcome any help offered, with no questions asked. Scully couldn't give Mulder any medical supplies other than the Haz-Mat suit because they had left Washington so quickly after her OPR hearing. The motel sat on the outskirts of town, so the desk clerk had quickly scrawled directions to the doctor's office the night before. Mulder glanced once more at the crumpled piece of Alamo Motel paper sitting on the passenger seat. With a turn of his wrist, the car roared to life. He pulled out of the parking lot, and onto the narrow two-lane road. Within five minutes, Mulder had reached the center of Alamo. During his short drive, he started to sweat uncontrollably, both from nervousness and from the heat inside the suit. He parked the car a few blocks down from the doctor's office, and popped open the car door. As soon as he walked around the corner in front of the doctor's office, Mulder heard the dull roar of angry voices. A crowd of about a dozen was blocking the door, yelling at a man dressed in a light blue Haz-Mat suit. Mulder approached the man, and placed his hand on the man's shoulder, startling him. The blue-suited man whirled around, fists up. "Whoa," Mulder said. "Calm down. I'm here to help." "Who are you?" the man asked him. "My name is Fox Mulder. I'm with the FBI. I came here to investigate an outbreak of the disease known as the Black Oil." "We've definitely got an outbreak here, but nobody has been able to tell us what it is," the little man said to Mulder. "The patients have a black film over their eyes," Fox motioned to his face. "Small ripples moving beneath the skin, and their chests have become translucent and jelly-like." "Yes," the man nodded vigorously. "Yes, that's right." "If I could, I'd like to go inside and take a look." "Sure. Of course." The blue-suited man turned back to the crowd. "If you'll please excuse us," he shouted over the noise, "We need to get in." "We won't leave until you give us some answers!" a large woman standing near the front told them. The tiny crowd yelled in agreement. "Ma'am," Mulder softly said, stepping forward. "I've seen this disease before, and unless you come in direct contact with the substance, you are safe. So, if none of you are already infected, the best place for you to be is at home." The woman crossed her arms in front of her chest, obviously unimpressed. Mulder decided to try a different approach. "Ma'am, I am an FBI agent, and if you do not move, I will have to place you under arrest." She stood her ground and bored a hole into Mulder with her eyes. "Can I see your identification?" He sighed, exasperated. "Do you see any pockets on this thing?" he asked, his voice rising. Mulder took a deep breath to compose himself, and made an effort to remain calm. "Please, ma'am, I need you to move. As long as I am kept waiting out here, people are going to die in there. I would hate for one of your loved ones to die because of your poor judgement." The woman stood still, thinking. Finally, she mumbled something and moved aside. Everyone behind her followed suit, grumbling. The small man and Mulder made their way to the door. Behind him, Mulder heard sniffling. He turned to see the large woman in tears. "Are you okay, ma'am?" he asked. "Please...don't let...don't let my little Janie die," she cried, her body jerking with each sob. "I will try my hardest not to let anything happen to her," he gently assured the mother. Mulder turned back to the small man, genuinely moved. When he came, he hadn't considered how the losses of others might affect him by dredging up memories of his sister and Scully's near-death experiences. In front of him, the man was waiting, holding open the door. Mulder walked into the building, still thinking about Samantha. "I'm sorry," the man said, jolting Mulder back to the present. "I never introduced myself. My name is Dr. Stacey. Dr. Robert Stacey." The doctor offered his suited hand. Mulder shook it, nodding in recognition. "Nice to meet you, Dr. Stacey." "I'm sure you'd like to see my first patient, since he was most likely the Patient Zero," Stacey said. "We have him isolated. When he came in, we gave him his own room, but then all of these other cases started pouring in. We didn't want to move him for fear of catching the disease ourselves." Stacey led Mulder into another room. A privacy curtain was pulled around the bed, which was pushed up against the back wall. Three long gashes ran across the curtain, from the floor to its midpoint. Bright red spots of still-fresh blood were splattered across the curtain in various places. Alarmed, the doctor rushed forward and threw open the curtain. Blood covered the bed sheets, under a form barely recognizable as a human body. A large gaping hole was left where the stomach used to be. All of the skin on the body was covered with a sickly blue film, and the head was slick with the Black Oil. Mulder's eyes darted around the room. "The alien was in the stomach, like the frozen bodies in Antarctica," he said to himself. "What?" the doctor asked, still staring in shock at the mauled body. "Don't move. There is a..." he trailed off, searching for the best words. "There is a very fierce animal in this room." Mulder heard heavy, raspy breathing behind him. He slowly turned, and stared at the slimy newborn E.B.E. ---END CHAPTER FOUR--- Title- Fallout (Chapter 5) Author- 2Shy X-01001 E-mail address- wausa@flash.net Rating- PG Category- X Spoilers- None Keywords- None Summary- All evidence points to Mulder as the bomber. Original Date of Posting- February 17th, 1999 Archive- Gossamer and Xemplary can archive any of my pieces. Anyone else, please e-mail me for permission to archive. Disclaimer- I don't own The X-Files or any of its characters. In fact, I own nothing. So, if anybody reading this is charitable, please send donations of food and money to: Poor Boy Cardboard Box #7365 New York, New York 12345 Feedback is greatly appreciated. I pin all the feedback I get on the wall in my box, right next to my picture of the shot from the Grassy Knoll. If you need any of the previous four parts of "Fallout", please e-mail me, and I'll send it right over. (I *DO NOT* have one of those stupid Domino's Pizza 30 minute guarantees, so please be patient.) "FALLOUT: CHAPTER FIVE" WASHINGTON, D.C. 10:25 A.M. Detective Roarke slowly ran her fingers through her unkempt hair. She tiredly examined the pictures and documents on her desk through bloodshot eyes. For 57 straight hours, she had stayed awake, poring over the evidence, distraught at the fact that she couldn't put all the pieces together and make an arrest. She couldn't question the British Man- he had died four days before the press conference. She had to lie to the mayor so it wouldn't appear as if she had only one lead. When she was questioning Mulder, her untruth just came out. That was the problem with lying- once you started, you had to live the lie. Both the commissioner and the mayor were pushing her for an arrest. She had tried to track down Mulder to ask him more questions, but initially she couldn't find him. Then, she had checked the airline records. He had left on a flight to Bismarck, North Dakota, the night before. She had called his partner, Agent Scully, and got no response. His boss at the FBI, Assistant Director Walter Skinner had no knowledge of Mulder's travel. Now Roarke had decided to attempt to track down his partner. The detective thought that maybe Scully would know why Mulder had suddenly left, in the midst of a criminal investigation. The detective picked up the phone and consulted her Rolodex before dialing a number. "Hello," a voice monotonously said. "Hi," the detective replied, barely disguising the exhaustion she felt behind a cheery voice. "This is Detective Roarke at the D.C. Police Department. I need to check passenger manifests for outgoing flights yesterday." "Which airport would you like me to check?" Roarke rested her elbow on the desk and slowly leaned her forehead into her palm. "Let's start with Dulles. We can check National and BWI later." "Detective, do you want the manifests delivered to you, or are you looking for someone in particular?" The woman on the other end of the phone oddly enunciated every syllable of her last word. "I'm looking for a Dana Scully. I'd really appreciate it if you could check every airline for me." Roarke rotated her neck slowly and sighed as the tension was relieved with a loud pop. For a brief moment, the thought of seeing a masseuse and charging it to the department flitted through her mind. "Ma'am, if you want me to check all of the outgoing flights on every airline out of National, Dulles, and BWI yesterday, it's going to take some time." "That's alright. I need the information, no matter how long it takes." Anne Roarke gave the indifferent airport operator her work and cell phone numbers, and hung up. The detective was worried. It had been a week, and other than the FBI agent Mulder, she had no leads. Usually, any witnesses came forward within 48 hours. Besides the usual crank caller who read an article in the newspaper and decided to call the precinct pretending to be a witness, there was nothing. No real witnesses, and almost no physical evidence, since it had all been destroyed in the blaze. The only person who had seen Mulder on the night of June 29th was a bartender at Casey's Bar who had seen the agent walk into the alley behind the establishment about 45 minutes before the bomb was believed to have gone off. None of the "residents" around the blast site had seen anything either. They were all squatters who were either stoned on various drugs or drunk off their collective asses. The fire department's investigator, Sam Gash, had called her earlier that morning. His people were examining the explosive device thoroughly, and were also examining the small, metallic discs they'd found, and the wiring it had been attached to. From what they had seen so far, it appeared that the device was made in the United States, or overseas, using mostly American parts. The detective sat silently again, staring at a haunting photograph of the charred skeleton gripping the steering wheel of the blackened car. She thought about the information she had been able to gather. There were no other suspects, and no evidence that might point to someone other than Mulder. All the pressure weighed on Roarke's shoulders at once. The lack of sleep, compounded with the looming shadows of the mayor and commissioner, and an unavoidable divorce in the near future pushed against the walls of her head, giving her a pounding headache. Suddenly, she sprung into action. The detective stood up and grabbed her windbreaker off of her chair. Roarke knew that this was the case of her career. An arrest wouldn't cut it. She needed a conviction, and she felt that the only way to do that was to get information from Mulder and follow up on it. She would take vacation days and track him down in North Dakota. "Maybe I'll get some sleep on the plane," she mumbled to herself, on her way out the door. ---END CHAPTER FIVE--- Title- Fallout (Chapter 6) Author- 2Shy X-01001 E-mail address- wausa@flash.net Rating- PG-13 Category- X Spoilers- Fight the Future, Tunguska, Terma, The Erlenmeyer Flask, Redux II, and a *slight* Two Fathers reference Keywords- None Summary- Scully hunts down leads in Atlanta, AND "Whatever happened to Mulder and that E.B.E.?" you ask. Read on to find out! Original Date of Posting- February 20th, 1999 Archive- Gossamer and Xemplary can archive any of my pieces. Anyone else, please e-mail me for permission to archive. Disclaimer- No one will ever give me a penny for any of my writing (Good news, Twentieth Century Fox!). Also, I have no disillusions such as "I own Mulder and Scully!", although I *am* Cris Carter. I only wish that damn Randy Moss hadn't taken all my touchdown catches! Feedback is greatly appreciated. It gives me a warm fuzzy ;-) If you need any of the previous five parts of "Fallout", please e-mail me, and I'll send it/them right over. (I *DO NOT* have one of those stupid Domino's Pizza 30 minute guarantees, so please be patient.) "FALLOUT: CHAPTER SIX" ALAMO, NORTH DAKOTA 10:32 A.M. EASTERN STANDARD TIME Mulder was relieved that all he had on over his clothes was a yellow Haz-Mat suit. Without it, he would once again be infected with the Black Oil. He distinctly remembered the uncomfortable feeling of the virus crawling under his skin from the Tunguska gulag. Mulder saw the fluorescent light glinting off of the E.B.E.'s deadly claws and suddenly felt uneasy. The reflecting light and smooth black appearance made them resemble obsidian knives. He knew that with one swipe, the alien could shred his suit beyond recognition. That would definitely leave Mulder susceptible if the virus had reassorted into an airborne strain. If the claws pierced his skin, Mulder would be infected. "Doctor, stand still," the agent commanded, his heavy breathing echoing loudly inside the suit. He looked around, not moving his head, searching for a weapon. His fingers slowly wrapped around the cold metal of the IV stand behind him. With an eerie roar, the E.B.E. lunged at Mulder. He quickly lifted the stand off of the ground and swung at the alien. There was a loud thud as the four-pronged base slammed into the creature's chest. Flailing, the E.B.E. crashed into the wall, as a wheel from the IV stand flew off in another direction. As the alien struggled to its three-toed feet, Mulder frantically looked for a way out. He saw none, and, before he knew it, the creature was attacking again. He fended off the angered alien with the metal bar as the doctor silently looked on, frozen to his place in fear. Slowly, the E.B.E. was backing Mulder towards the bed, and the dreaded Black Oil on the dead patient. Sensing that he was running out of time, the agent pulled his arm back, preparing for a mighty blow. In doing so, he couldn't keep the alien from slashing through his suit just below the neck. Mulder realized that had the cut been a few inches higher, he'd be gushing blood out of his carotid artery. In a last ditch attempt to save himself, Fox twisted his upper body, throwing all his force into the hit he delivered to the alien. A sickening crunch told him that the alien was dead as the wheeled base crushed the creature's skull. The Black Oil oozed out of the wounds on the alien's head. One of the legs of the IV stand was jammed into the brain of the E.B.E., since it had been sharpened as the wheel was torn off of it in the first attack. The large black eyes of the creature gradually turned white, as the Oil drained out of every orifice and into a pool on the floor under the carcass. The body slowly sagged in upon itself, its lifeblood, the Black Oil, abandoning it. Soon, all that was left of the ferocious being that had threatened Mulder's life was its limp black skin, completely dry and brittle. The agent regained his composure and swallowed hard. "Doctor, this room needs to be sealed off. No one will enter, and nothing will leave here." Dr. Stacey nodded, gasping for air. "Yes, I understand," he croaked. "I'd like to see the other patients now," Mulder informed him. "I would really like to prevent another one of these encounters." "Of course," Stacey replied, trying to push the violent scene to the back of his mind. "Let's go see the others." CENTER FOR DISEASE CONTROL ATLANTA, GEORGIA 10:37 A.M. Scully looked at her reflection as she opened the glass double doors of the CDC. Inside, beautiful mahogany wood decorated everything. The receptionist's desk was a large, smooth, wood semi-circle. Large metallic letters spelled out Center for Disease Control on a wooden wall. Even the recess lights were surrounded by wood. The young receptionist immediately knew when Scully entered because as the door was opened, a soft beep went off in her headset. The callers couldn't hear the beep, and sometimes even the receptionist accidentally tuned it out. Scully warmly smiled and the young lady returned the favor. "May I help you?" she politely inquired. "Yes," the agent replied. "My name is Dana Scully, and I am with the FBI." She flashed her badge from habit, and to comply with regulations. "I need to speak with anyone who is in charge of vaccines and eradication." "Is there a problem?" The receptionist looked genuinely concerned. "No, no. There's no problem," Dana said reassuringly. "I just desperately need some information." "I'll get someone for you right away." The woman pushed a button and talked with a hushed tone into her headset. "Dr. Katayna will be right with you," she told Scully. Dana turned around and walked to the inviting leather chairs in the lobby. Her bright auburn hair bounced with each step she took. Only moments after she was seated in the luxurious chair, a tall Oriental man approached her. She stood to speak with him. "Good morning," he greeted her, in a rich, low voice. "I am Dr. William Katayna, the chief Level Four virologist here at the Atlanta location." "I'm Dana Scully. Nice to meet you." She shook his large hand and looked up at him. "Thank you, doctor, for taking time out of your busy day. I really appreciate this." "It's nothing, really. Now, Stefanie told me you needed information on vaccines and our eradication procedures." "Yes, that's right," Scully nodded. "I received information that the Russians had developed a vaccine for a virus known as the Black Oil. I was also told that the virus had been eradicated and kept in your Level Four Hot Room, but now there is another outbreak." Dr. Katayna looked perplexed. "I'm sorry, Miss Scully, but I don't know of any virus called Black Oil." Dana also appeared confused. "The patients have small bumps under their skin that move around, like worms. There is also a black film over their eyes." Scully took a breath and was about to continue when Dr. Katayna cut her off. "Ma'am, the only virus that I know that fits that description is the Purity Virus." Confusion left Scully's face and was immediately replaced by shock. As soon as the word "purity" had left the doctor's mouth, Dana felt like the air was knocked out of her. The last time she'd heard that word, Mulder had been kidnapped and his Deep Throat contact was killed. The agent felt personally responsible. Deep Throat had sent her to Ft. Marlene to retrieve an alien fetus. When Deep Throat had traded the fetus for Mulder, he paid with his life. The Crew-Cut Man had put a bullet through Deep Throat and drove off in a cloud of dust. Thinking of this, Scully felt a pang of guilt. Had she inadvertently caused the death of dozens of people and the infection of herself by stealing the fetus? She told herself no, and shook her head. Mulder's source had said that the virus was seen in 1919, well before she was alive. Suddenly, a far more depressing thought entered her head. Was the reassortment of the virus in any way connected to her theft of the fetus? Could she have aided in the creation of a new strain of the virus by letting the fetus fall into the hands of the Syndicate? Dr. Katayna was watching Scully, trying to read her emotions. It was obvious she was worried about something. Her eyes gave that away as they stared into the floor. The doctor finally broke the silence. "Are you alright, Ms. Scully?" "Yes, I'm fine," she replied, attempting to compose herself. "You said something about an outbreak of Purity. That isn't possible, because it has been securely locked away in the Hot Room for years." Katayna tried to judge her body language before continuing. "And, due to that fact, we destroyed all of our vaccine samples." Scully shook her head in disbelief. "You have no knowledge of the Purity outbreak in North Dakota?" "I'm sorry, but you must be mistaken. There are no outbreaks of Purity, nor have there been any in the past five decades." The doctor offered his hand. "I hope I was of some help to you, Ms. Scully." "Thank you, sir." Dana handed him a business card with her cell phone number scrawled on the back. "If you have any more information, don't hesitate to call." The doctor grabbed the card and walked back into the office area. As soon as he was out of Scully's view, he tore the card in half and threw it a trash can. He pulled out his cell phone and speed-dialed a number. "Fredrick," he calmly stated, "I need a tail put on Dana Scully. Also, call Mr. Spender and tell him that the word is out. He needs to inform the group of these problems and decide on a course of action. I'll be waiting for his call." Abruptly, he hung up the phone, not waiting for a response from the person on the other end of the phone line. In the lobby, Scully turned to leave, and pulled out her cell phone. She quickly dialed a number from memory, and walked out of the building and into the parking lot. "Mulder, it's me," she informed him when he answered the phone. "Good morning, Scully. You're up bright and early." "Mulder, something important has come up," she said urgently. "What is it?" he asked, somewhat distracted as he looked at the victims. He was having a hard time hearing Scully through the suit, and he was worried that some of the Black Oil may have gotten on the phone when he dropped it during the fight. "The CDC apparently has no knowledge of the outbreak." Scully continued to talk as she pulled out the keys to her rental car. "I think you are being set up and that the outbreak is a sham." "I'm sure the alien that I just slaughtered would find that very funny," he quipped dryly. "What?" she asked incredulously. "Mulder, are you okay?" "Yeah, I'm fine, but I need you to get up here as fast as you can. There are more cases pouring in, and I don't have any of the vaccine." Mulder continued to walk through the doctor's office, observing the victims. "I don't have any of it either," she reminded him. "That's fine. Just get up here as soon as you can." He pushed a button on the phone, and the line went dead. Mulder walked forward, staring intently at one of the victims, a young girl with sandy blond hair. It was Emily. He rushed to her, suddenly wishing he hadn't told Scully to come. He kneeled next to Emily's bed, feeling horrible about the pain he knew Scully would suffer when she arrived. Mulder turned around, not able to look at Emily's beautiful eyes covered with the black film. That was when he saw her. She was in the bed next to Emily, and her skin was slimy from the virus. Even in her sickened state, Mulder recognized her- it was Samantha. A voice in the back of his mind told him that she was a clone, like the one the Smoking Man let him meet, almost one year prior. Mulder knew there was only one way to find out if she was a clone. "Dr. Stacey, I need a scalpel," he managed through a throat that was closing from emotions. The doctor hurried out of the room and quickly returned with the instrument Mulder had requested. He placed it in the agent's suit-covered hand and stepped back to see what was going to happen. Mulder belt over Samantha. He held her hand lovingly, and looked through tear-filled eyes at the woman he had searched so long for. He knew that if this was a clone, what he was about to do would probably kill him, the doctor, and all the patients in the room. He gripped the scalpel tightly and made an incision into her palm. Red blood flowed freely from the wound. Fox finally lost control of his emotions and began to sob. It tore him apart to know that he had finally found his sister, only to have to lose her to the horrible virus. ---END CHAPTER SIX--- Title- Fallout (Chapter 7) Author- 2Shy X-01001 E-mail address- wausa@flash.net Rating- PG-13 Category- X Spoilers- The End, Fight the Future, Emily, All Souls, Little Green Men, and a *slight* Two Fathers reference Keywords- None Summary- Scully learns more about the Syndicate, and Mulder deals with his discovery Original Date of Posting- February 25th, 1999 Archive- Gossamer and Xemplary can archive any of my pieces. Anyone else, please e-mail me for permission to archive. Disclaimer- I do not own Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, or any other X-Files related entity. Fox does, and they are sucking the money and the fun out of our addiction. Oh, by the way, Ten-Thirteen owns 'em too, but they aren't greedy !!!!CENSORED!!!! like Ruport Murdoch and friends. Feedback is greatly appreciated. I print it out and paste it on the ceiling so I can look at it every night as I drift off to sleep. If you need any of the previous six parts of "Fallout", please e-mail me, and I'll send it/them right over. (I *DO NOT* have one of those stupid Domino's Pizza 30 minute guarantees, so please be patient.) "FALLOUT: CHAPTER SEVEN" ATLANTA, GEORGIA 10:47 A.M. Scully was driving on the interstate when she first saw the car following her. Whenever possible, she stared intently at her rearview mirror, trying to see the driver, but the other car's windshield was heavily tinted. On the side of the road, a green sign proclaimed "Rest Area- 1 Mile" in large, white, reflective letters. Dana saw her chance, and turned into the right lane, preparing to exit. The large, black Mercury Sable followed. Dana thought of calling Mulder, but she remembered how he had rudely hung up on her, and she changed her mind. She checked the rearview again, and noticed something she hadn't seen before. In small, red type, the word "GOVERNMENT" was printed on the Virginia license plate of the black car. Scully took the exit ramp and almost immediately saw the rest area. She turned into the parking lot, and quickly maneuvered her car into a parking space. The agent hopped out of the car, and attempted to calmly walk to the restroom. "Agent Scully," a voice behind her said, making her jump. She whirled around, her right hand resting on the gun in her holster. Alex Krycek stared at her mockingly. "Did you find enough information to convince Mulder not to kill me?" Scully opened her mouth, unable to find the right words. Nodding, Krycek confirmed her suspicions. "That's right. I've been following you for quite a while. I heard the entire conversation in the park." Dana pursed her lips, disgusted. "That's not why I'm here talking to you, though." Alex motioned to a bench a few yards away. "Let's go sit down," he decided. "I can assure you that you won't need your gun." Scully moved her hand off of her holster, face reddening, and sat down hard on the bench. "Then why are you here?" she finally asked, once they both were seated. "I heard part of your phone call to Mulder. I guessed that you were talking about the outbreak and the lack of the vaccine." The renegade ex-agent stuck his left hand into his pocket and extracted two vials containing an amber fluid. "This is all I have," he told her, placing the vials of the vaccine into her hand. Dana shook her head in contradiction. "Mulder said that you told him you didn't have the vaccine." "It only came into my possession the day of your OPR hearing." "From whom did you get it?" she questioned him. "It's not important," Krycek harshly stated, returning her untrusting stare. "Look," he said, "You have to believe me. I'm your only chance now." Scully thought about the past few days. She had millions of questions to ask Krycek, but time was of the essence, and she had little of it to burn. "The doctor at the CDC said that there was no outbreak," she informed him. "It's a lie," Krycek quickly replied, as if he had expected her to say that. "This group, the Syndicate, they have controlled the CDC for nearly fifty years." He raised his eyebrows quizzically. "Didn't you or Mulder find it odd that the last reported outbreak of the Oil was a few years before the Roswell incident?" "No, I didn't," she said, staring at the cracks in the cement sidewalk. "I don't think he did, either." Krycek stuck a folded piece of paper into Scully's hand. "Get on this flight to Bismarck. I'll meet you when we get off in North Dakota. And do not," he jabbed his finger towards her threateningly, "Try to skip out on me. Understand?" "Fine," she agreed, nonchalantly. They both stood to leave, not noticing a dark car parked in the lot, Its driver looking at them. He put a cell phone to his ear and watched Krycek and Scully enter their respective cars. "Mr. Spender," the man finally said when someone answered the phone, "I think we've found our leak. It's Alex Krycek." The man paused, listening to the response to the news. "Sir, the situation in North Dakota is getting out of hand. I believe that all evidence of it needs to be destroyed, like the bodies in Dallas." He paused again. "Yes sir, I understand. I'm still following her." The Close-Cropped Man hung up the phone and reversed out of the parking space, keeping a safe distance between him and his prey. SOMEWHERE OVER IOWA 3:17 P.M. EASTERN STANDARD TIME The Cigarette-Smoking Man looked at his watch. The plane had been in a turbulence pocket for almost five minutes, and even in the smooth, wide, leather seats of the first class cabin, he felt uneasy. Everything he had worked so hard for was coming down in a falling heap around him. Fifty years of work by the Syndicate would be wasted if he couldn't keep plausible denial intact for the North Dakota outbreak. Strughold had put the Smoking Man, known to his colleagues as Mr. Spender, on the first available flight to Bismarck. He was to evaluate the situation, and to silence the Syndicate's leak. There were people in the group who felt that swift and decisive action must immediately be taken to keep Mulder from revealing the truth. Mr. Spender knew that he would not do it, though. He knew that he couldn't pull the trigger and end the life of the man he loved as a son. Love. That was a word rarely, if ever, associated with the Smoking Man. He had killed more people than anyone could remember, and had devised schemes to take the lives of innocent children and traitorous colleagues. No one would believe that he was even capable of love. Even in the midst of the struggle between the opposing alien races, Mr. Spender could not kill the person who most jeopardized his well-laid plans. Secretly, he had hoped that Bill Mulder would choose his son all those years ago on the night of November 27th. The Smoking Man had thought the three would've been great men in the wake of the viral apocalypse, but now he realized he would be the only one of the three to survive, if anyone did. The pilot came on the intercom and informed the passengers that they would be arriving in Bismarck in approximately 45 minutes. Mr. Spender checked his watch again, as his hand grasped the vial of the vaccine in his pocket. The Syndicate had given it to him prior to his departure, in case he became infected by Purity while in Alamo. A craving for a cigarette hit him, and he instinctively reached for the nicotine gum in his other pocket. Even his seemingly unending power couldn't help him to sidestep the FAA's no smoking rule. The woman sitting across the aisle smiled at him. "You're trying to quit too?" she asked. "Yes," Mr. Spender lied, nodding. His eyes wandered to the pictures lying on the foldout tray in front of her. They were gruesome- a skeleton gripping the steering wheel of a blackened car, a man burned beyond recognition lying in an ICU bed, and the skeleton of a man in the trunk of a burned car all looked accusingly up at him. He told himself that it was a coincidence, that there was no way that those were pictures of the aftermath of the bombing he had orchestrated. "Are you on the bomb squad?" he asked her, pointing to the pictures. The tired-looking woman shook her head. "No, I work for the Washington P.D., but I am investigating a bombing." She cocked her head to one side. "How did you know?" she asked. "I used to be an EMT," he lied again, dryly. Anne Roarke looked at the Smoking Man through puffy eyes, not knowing that he was already thinking of ways to kill her. "If you'll excuse me," she said, "I really need to get some sleep." The detective leaned back into her seat, and closed her eyes. In only a few minutes, Roarke got her first taste of sleep in days. ALAMO, NORTH DAKOTA 3:39 P.M. EASTERN STANDARD TIME Mulder was sitting in a small chair next to his sister's bed. He had been there, keeping watch over her for five hours. Fox had asked the doctor to keep a close eye on both her and Samantha, hoping that they would survive the outbreak, overcoming the extremely slim odds. The agent lifted his head slightly and looked past Samantha and into Emily's bed. She hadn't visibly worsened, but she hadn't improved, either. The black film still covered her eyes, hovering over them like an extra pair of eyelids. Mulder thought back to the night when he had searched his soul on the green couch, after Detective Roarke had questioned him. That night, he believed that what the British man told him had helped him to come to terms with Samantha's disappearance. Now, he wasn't so sure. A part of him hoped that Emily would die, that she would pass on before Scully arrived. The other part of him both liked and despised the thought. He didn't want Scully to have to suffer through the loss of Emily again, but there was always the faint glimmer of hope that this Emily would live on. Mulder considered cutting Emily's hand to find out if she was a clone, but the thought of discovering it was really her was too much to handle. For the seventh time that day, Fox began to sob. He felt hopeless and frustrated. It seemed like there was no way to win, that every time he came close to the truth, it was snatched away. He thought it was his fault that the X-Files had been shut down, that by asking for immunity for Gibson Praise's would-be assassin, he had set the Smoking-Man's plan into action. Now, in the bed behind him, a patient's stomach started to expand. Then, it fell back down to its regular location, and continued the pattern rhythmically. Each time, the stomach expanded to an even larger size, making a squishy sound as it did so. Mulder heard this, and turned around. He peered in at the translucent stomach. There was no E.B.E. gestating, so the throbbing stomach confounded him. Suddenly, there was a loud pop, and the man's chest exploded. Blood and Black Oil flew everywhere, and splattered against Mulder's facial shield. No alien had left the body with the fluids, but the agent called the doctor anyway. "Dr. Stacey, get in here!" he yelled. The small man bustled in. "What is it?" he asked. "This man is dead," Mulder informed him. "Then where is the big black thing?" "I don't know," he replied, turning to face Stacey. The doctor recoiled upon seeing the sticky mess on Mulder's mask. Fox's face started to itch, and he gasped in fear. "Doctor," he urgently stated, "I think I've been infected." "How?" Stacey wondered aloud. "It must've gotten through the tears in my suit." "Oh my God," the doctor whispered. "What do you want me to do?" "Get me in a clean bed." He paused, thinking. "And my partner Dana Scully will be coming soon. She's a doctor. I want you to send her to see me as soon as she arrives." "O.K.," Stacey nodded, beginning to worry. "She should be able to help you contain this problem," Mulder told him. "I pray to God she can," the doctor mumbled, too softly for Fox to hear. ----END CHAPTER SEVEN---- Title- Fallout (Chapter 8) Author- 2Shy X-01001 E-mail address- wausa@flash.net Rating- PG-13 Category- XA Spoilers- Fight the Future, Redux, Redux II, and a *slight* Two Fathers reference Keywords- Character death Summary- The conclusion of "Fallout" has everyone converging upon Alamo, and Mulder dealing with his impending death. Original Date of Posting- February 28th, 1999 Archive- Gossamer and Xemplary can archive any of my pieces. Anyone else, please e-mail me for permission to archive. Disclaimer- Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions, and Twentieth Century Fox Film Corporation own Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, and all other The X-Files related entities. I don't own them, but I sure want to. I love feedback! Please send some to me, because I got *no* feedback on "Fallout: Part Seven". If you are missing any of the previous seven parts of "Fallout", please email me and I'll send them right over. Please be patient when waiting for the parts, because sometimes it will be difficult for me to get online. "FALLOUT: CHAPTER EIGHT" 70 MILES NORTHWEST OF BISMARCK, NORTH DAKOTA 4:17 P.M. EASTERN STANDARD TIME Mr. Spender sat behind the wheel of his rented champagne Nissan Altima. He intently watched a bright light that was nearly out of his view. It was the sun reflecting off of Anne Roarke's rental car, giving the Smoking Man the ability to follow her at a considerable distance. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the small black car fly past him on the desolate highway, but didn't turn to look, instead choosing to keep his eyes peeled on his quarry. In doing so, he did not notice that the driver of the car was Krycek and the passenger was Scully. Their plane had arrived only thirty minutes after the Smoking Man's did. Since they had no baggage and Krycek had set up a rental car before their departure, the pair had breezed through the airport. As Krycek drove, they carried on an informative conversation. "What Mulder believes happened in Roswell is wrong. The Roswell incident was manufactured to cover up another test of the Oil. The government's constant denial of knowledge of extra-terrestrial life piqued the interest of most people, and diverted their attention from a far greater atrocity. Due to their distraction, they didn't realize that the Syndicate had killed nearly 1,000 people in Oregon." Krycek shook his head sadly. "They said it was in the name of science." Scully laughed. "So, are you going to tell me that they created a pandemic and World War II just to test the virus?" "There never was a pandemic, Agent Scully." Even while watching the road, Krycek could see Scully flinch at the statement. "I know it sounds unbelievable. The thing you have to realize is that in the early 1900's, news traveled slowly. Word of mouth was the best way to spread the news. The Syndicate found that by sprinkling bits of misinformation into the public and releasing staged photographs and newsreels, they could create a phantom pandemic. They successfully did so, and also were able to test the virus without the scrutiny of the United States and its citizens." "That's impossible," Scully claimed. "Mulder and I have never found one piece of evidence that would show that this group even existed before the Roswell incident." "In 1910, seven men joined together to form a group. They were interested in protecting their lives in case of an apocalyptic event. When aliens first visited earth in 1913, these men were present. They decided that the aliens' plans of colonizing Earth with a virus were threatening, and began to devote their attention to warding off such an invasion." "No," Scully shook her head forcefully. "These men- the men that took me, experimented on me, and put a chip in my neck- they have no good in them at all. They are only concerned about saving their own asses." "That's not how it started, though. The original members were interested in protecting the human race from what they thought was most certainly an unavoidable disaster. The seven men made a pact with the visiting aliens. It bought them time to formulate a plan against the invaders, and it also gave the aliens no reason to be suspicious of us." Krycek guided the car down the exit ramp, right behind Roarke, blocking the Smoking Man's view of her car. "The men tested the virus on the public, so they could see the effects of it, and to test their vaccine. They did not want anyone to know about these tests, because they believed the knowledge of the impending invasion would cause a worldwide panic. "The vaccine did not work, and the men began to worry. After the Roswell event was staged, other men, including Bill Mulder and the Smoking Man joined the group. They did not realize that the Roswell incident was a sham, and they all thought it was a sign of an upcoming invasion." "So Bill Mulder and the Cancer Man met each other after Roswell?" Krycek nodded, as he turned into the parking lot of the Alamo Motel. "Some of the new members, men like Bill Mulder, wanted to stay with the original plans. Others, including the Smoking Man, wanted to side with the aliens to protect themselves, throwing the rest of the original plans aside." "So, the Smoking Man came into power and changed the plans?" "No," Krycek replied, turning off the car. "A man named Strughold took over the Syndicate. He was an original member that was angry with them for their World War II tests." "He was mad because they had staged a war to cover up their tests?" Scully asked, confused. "Don't get me wrong, Scully. World War II was real, but it would have never happened if not for the actions of the Syndicate." "What do you mean?" she questioned him, as they both stepped out of the car. A short distance in front of them, Anne Roarke was entering the motel office. "The Syndicate reported that Hitler invaded Poland a week before it happened. They even had falsified pictures of the invasion, so the Americans fell for it. The U.S. government pressured European countries to attack Germany in retaliation. The only problem was that the Syndicate had never anticipated such a violent response from the U.S. government. Their only intentions were to cause a short distraction with a skirmish overseas, just long enough for another test on American civilians. Once the war started, the group came to a consensus that they might as well test the virus in another country, since the entire world was focused on the war." "Bill Mulder helped start World War II?" Scully asked incredulously. "No, he was entirely against the plan from the start. He thought that people other than the test subjects would die, and he wouldn't take part in any of the Syndicate's activities for many years after. Tension started to break the group into factions, and smaller groups were virtually banned from having a voice in any of the decisions. Bill Mulder left the group in 1967 and went to work at the DOD. He hoped that one day he would be able to stop the colonization, and protect his wife, young son, and daughter." Krycek opened the door to the office, and all talk of the Oil and the Syndicate ceased. Anne Roarke was speaking with the desk clerk. Neither Krycek or Scully could make out any of the conversation, and Alex didn't recognize her from behind. Roarke and the clerk continued to talk, and the pair behind them waited patiently. Suddenly, Scully stood straight up. "What is it?" Krycek looked at her with concern. Dana leaned forward and whispered in his ear. "She said something about Mulder." The agent pulled away as Roarke walked by. Krycek recognized her as she passed, but didn't say anything while she was in hearing range. Roarke left the building, and he walked to the desk, confidently. "We're Krycek and Scully with the FBI," he lied to the desk clerk. "We are investigating the woman that you just spoke to. Can you tell us what she said?" "Sure, if you show me your badges," the desk clerk said. It was the large woman from the doctor's office. When the young desk clerk had fallen ill, she stepped in to fill the position. Krycek felt around in his leather jacket, feigning disgust. "I must've left it in the car. Do you have yours, Scully?" Dana played along, pulling her badge out of her trenchcoat. She flipped it open and held it out for the woman's inspection. She nodded, and Scully put the badge back in her trenchcoat pocket. "The lady asked me if I'd seen a guy named Mulder," she informed them. "She said her name was Roarke, and that she was a detective. I told her I'd seen him this morning down at Dr. Stacey's office." "How do I get there?" Scully urgently asked. The woman wrote down directions, and the pair rushed out to the car. Krycek turned the key, and quickly spun the car out of its parking spot. He drove onto the main road and pushed the accelerator down as hard as he could. "I've seen that detective before," he finally said to Scully. "What? Why didn't you tell me?" she asked, angry. "I didn't recognize her until she was gone. It doesn't matter, though. Mulder's smart- he won't let her in. He'll probably say it's a quarantined area and slam the door in her face." Scully let a small smirk crawl across her features as she thought about Krycek's depiction of Mulder. She knew Alex was right, but she still couldn't stop worrying. She settled back in her seat for the short ride, trying to remain calm through the rush of adrenaline that was coursing through her body. Only miles behind them on the two-lane road, the Cigarette-Smoking Man drove on. He had decided to go to the doctor's office when his victim had driven down the exit ramp. He knew the way to the office, since he had hand picked Alamo for the test, and hoped that his personal knowledge of it would play to his advantage. ALAMO, NORTH DAKOTA 4:59 P.M. EASTERN STANDARD TIME Scully and Krycek rushed to the door of the doctor's office. Frantically, she pounded on the door, not worried that neither her or Krycek were wearing anything to protect against the Black Oil. As they had driven to downtown Alamo, they had sped by Roarke in a No-Passing Zone. Luckily, the small police force had other matters to attend to, and there was no one to pull them over. Finally, Dr. Stacey answered the door in his blue Haz-Mat suit. "Are you Dana Scully?" he immediately asked her. "Yes," she replied, already forcing her way into the building. "Wait!" he yelled, "I have a message for you." Scully stopped, an impatient look scrawled on her face. "Your partner...he's...Mr. Mulder has been infected with a virus." "My God," Scully whispered, instinctively touching the small gold cross she always wore. "He wanted me to have you come in and see him," Stacey told her. "Show me where he is," she softly said, her voice faltering. Hot tears strolled down her face, streaking her already ruined makeup. Different emotions washed over her, but she tried to hold them back. She wanted to remain professional, for Mulder's sake. Dr. Stacey led her into a small room, as Krycek stayed behind to look at the infected. On a hospital bed with white sheets, Mulder lay silently, barely conscious. Through cloudy eyes, he faintly made out Scully's form. "Scully," he whimpered. "I'm here Mulder." She took his suited hand in hers and squeezed it compassionately. "I've also got the vaccine." "How much of it?" he asked, crying harder as he thought of Emily and Samantha. "I have two vials," she told him. Mulder sobbed loudly, not wanting to tell her about Emily or Samantha, but he knew that if he didn't they, both would die. He knew he had to make the choice, that no matter what he did, one of the three would have to die. "Scully," he finally whispered, his voice breaking with the sobs, "You can't use the vaccine on me." "Why not?" she asked, silently crying. She tried to dry her eyes with the back of her hand, but to no avail. "Emily and Samantha are here," he informed her, struggling to regain his composure. Death was staring him in the face, but he wanted to finish his father's work. He wanted to bring Samantha back to his mother, to end all of the years of suffering Teena Mulder must have been through. "It's really her, Scully. It's really Samantha, and I think it's really Emily." "I can't do that," she said, knowing what he must've felt like when she had cancer and had begged him to let her take the fall for Ostelhoff's death. "If I can make your life happier, then let me. For my mother, for Samantha, for you, and for Emily. Please, Scully. If I take the vaccine and one of them dies, I'll never be able to live through the guilt." "Mulder, I just can't do that," she said, trying to look at him through tear-filled eyes. "What if you do give me the vaccine?" he challenged her. "Who chooses which one of them lives and which one dies? Who gets to play God? Could you live with yourself if you made that choice? Let me save you from that guilt, Scully. Let me make the choice for you." "Mulder," she trailed off, searching for the right words, but couldn't find them. "Scully," he whispered, his voice jumping as he cried, "If I die without trying to save them, I die in vain. I never found the truth I searched for, so what else would my life mean if I took the coward's way out? Please, Scully, save them. Do it for me. Scully, do it for me." She sympathetically looked at him. Through his mask, his eyes begged her to agree. Slowly, she stroked his suited hand. "I love you, Mulder," she managed, and bent down next to him. She kissed the latex that separated their skin, and quickly turned to leave, worried that she might change her mind. "Doctor," she stated, trying to fight her emotions and do the job. "I'll need two hypodermic needles." 5:08 P.M. EASTERN STANDARD TIME The Cigarette-Smoking Man drove at breakneck speed, trying to catch Roarke before she could learn anything to expose the Project. As he went over a rise, downtown Alamo appeared, as did Roarke's car. He pushed the pedal harder, causing pain in his arthritic foot. The speedometer creeped past 90 miles per hour and continued moving. Quickly, Roarke's rental car came closer and closer to Mr. Spender's Altima. His car topped 100 miles per hour, and the Smoking Man became worried that she would reach town before he could kill her. He continued to push his car, putting it even closer to its limits. Within 30 seconds, his prey was only yards in front of him. He swerved to the left at the high speed, pulling up even with her car. Mr. Spender swung his arms to the right, bashing his car into hers. Her tires squealed loudly, as she fought to regain control of her vehicle. He pulled away and swerved back into her again. Roarke's car was severely dented from the two high-speed collisions, and she tried to slow down, hoping that he would fly by her. Instead, he attacked again, hitting the front of her car at 93 miles per hour, sending her car into a dizzying spin. Mr. Spender drove on, suddenly not wanting to kill her. Protecting the truth was his only concern. Behind him, Roarke's car continued to spin wildly out of control. She fumbled with the steering wheel, praying aloud to God as she did so. She was thrown forward and her head hit the steering wheel as her car slammed into a tree. Blood gushed from a laceration on her forhead, and she slipped into unconsciousness. Her breathing grew short and raspy, and blood began to flow out of her mouth. Her blood pooled in her lap as the life slowly drained from her injured body. 5:18 P.M. EASTERN STANDARD TIME Scully sat watching Emily and Samantha, hoping that they'd show signs of improvement. It had been nearly 15 minutes since she had administered the vaccine, but there was no visible change. "We have to go," Krycek told her. "I can't leave Mulder here before he dies," she protested. "One of the victims is about to have an alien burst out of its stomach and I am not going to be here for its evening meal." "I am not going to leave," she stubbornly told him. Krycek quickly whipped out his gun and pointed it at Scully. "We're going to leave now." "We can't leave them behind! Mulder gave his life up for them!" she yelled. Krycek pulled back on the hammer. "If we take them with us and the vaccine didn't work, you and I will die." He waved to the door with his gun. "We are leaving right now." They quickly walked out of the building and got into the car. Krycek jammed the key into the ignition and threw the car in gear. The tires spun as he drove away, leaving black tire streaks on the ground. Almost as soon as he had left, the Cigarette-Smoking Man pulled up in his battered Altima. He opened the car door and confidently strode into the building. Dr. Stacey stopped him immediately. "Excuse me, who are you?" he questioned Mr. Spender. "I'm here looking for Fox Mulder." "He's in here." Dr. Stacey lead the Smoking Man into Mulder's room. The conspirator blinked back tears. "Could you leave us alone for a moment?" he asked. "Of course." Stacey left the room, shutting the door behind him. The Cigarette-Smoking Man looked down sympathetically at the man he loved as a son. Bill Mulder had wanted his son Fox to grow up and discover the truth, to find his sister Samantha, and to expose the men behind the lies and deceit. Mr. Spender knew that that dream would never become a reality if he didn't sacrifice himself. He began to cry as he pulled a vial of the vaccine out of his pocket. He took a syringe out of the other, and extracted the amber fluid from its vial. Slowly, he inserted the needle below Mulder's skin and pushed down on the plunger. The liquid left the syringe and flowed into Fox's body. The Smoking Man removed the vial from the agent's arm and pulled out his cellular phone. Rapidly, he dialed a number and pressed the phone to his ear. "Start the decontamination procedures," he told the person who answered. "It's all going to hell." JULY 8, 1998 CHILMARK, MASSACHUSETTS 12:15 P.M. "Mom, I'm so sorry. I could've saved her. I had the chance," Mulder stopped talking and started to sob into his mother's shoulder. "It's alright," she told him, running her fingers through his dark black hair. "At least I know she was alive, and not killed by them." "I think she was. I think they killed her to protect their plans." "No," Teena Mulder told him. "She died so you could find the truth. All that Bill ever wanted was for you to find her and fight the future." She rocked his large body gently, hoping he would be a better man than his father. ALAMO, NORTH DAKOTA 1:37 P.M. EASTERN STANDARD TIME Flames leapt high into the sky as every building in Alamo was set on fire. Men in large, flame-resistant suits were burning everything in sight with the blow-torches they had in their hands. Near the center of the town, several men entered a doctor's office filled with people covered by the Black Oil. In a back room, an elderly man lay on the floor, his throat and chest slashed, dried blood on his rumpled suit and the floor below. A cigarette sat on the empty hospital bed behind him. Strughold gazed unemotionally at his fallen comrade. He whispered something and started his blow torch. Flames swallowed everything, taking away all evidence of the truth. ---END CHAPTER EIGHT---