From: Lacadiva@aol.com
Date: Fri, 16 Oct 1998 13:29:06 EDT
Subject: email type 52-1

Type 52 (1/8)
by Lacadiva 
September 29, 1998

Category:  MSR/Friendship/Horror/XFile/HC/crossover/MulterTorture/Angst
Scullyangst/SkinnerTorture/Angst. . .aw, heck let's make some up.
Rating: R (for violent situations and a bit of overly descriptive gore).

Disclaimer:  The characters and situations of the television series, The X-
Files, are the sole creation of property of Chris Carter, Fox Broadcasting,
and Ten Thirteen Productions, and have been used without permission.  Also,
apologies to George Romero and the makers of the classic "Dead" films for all
references to the dead walking the earth and feeding on the living.  Boy, this
sounds like a picnic, doesn't it?  No copyright infringements are intended. I
claim nothing but a voracious love for Carter's characters and universe;
please don't sue me 'cause all you'll get is my TV that reads red lipstick as
blue.  Also, apologies to Lon Miller, author of the fictional "Alomal-137
Epidemiology Case Study Final Status Report" on the Dawn of the Dead website.
Please forgive me, but I used information from your report for the explanation
of the virus.  I did not know how to contact you, and it sounded so cool, I
had to use it.  If you'd like to read Mr. Miller's fictional case study (it is
so fascinating and so well put together I had to keep reminding myself it was
not the real deal!) go to
http://ourworld.compuserve.com/homepages/LM_Miller/report.htm and indulge.

Feedback:  Please.  I'm heavily addicted to it.
Archive:  Feel free but contact me first so I'll know where to find it.  

Note:  This story is in answer to a challenge posted of the atxc newsgroup a
few months ago -- that is, a crossover between the Xfiles and George Romero's
Night of the Living/Dawn of the /Day of the/Dead film series.  Please do not
consume barbecued ribs while reading this.

Summary:  Night of the Living X-File:  Skinner enlists Mulder and Scully's
help in finding the truth behind the death of an old friend and his son, and
the disappearance of the entire population of a small Texas town.  The agents
are thrust into a nightmare when they are trapped inside an army medical
facility with a horde of flesh-eating zombies on the other side, mad for the
scent of their blood.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"During those days men will seek death, but will not find it; they will long
to die, but death will elude them."
Revelation 9:6
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Type 52 (1/8)


US Army Underground 
Medical Facility
Harmony, Texas
August 6, 1998
11:07 PM


He sat in his laboratory spinning around slowly on the padded swivel stool,
looking at all the open cages that once kept rats, cats, dogs and monkeys.  He
looked at the file cabinet drawers which lay empty, twisted and broken on the
floor.  The hard drive of his computer had been erased; not even the word
processing program remained, or the game he had created to keep himself
occupied on those high wasted days waiting for the animals to respond to the
treatment.  The phones had been ripped out of the walls, rendered useless.
The army's communication center had equally been left demolished.  They'd
stolen his research materials, every single sample, every single ounce of
proof.  Even the anti-virus, barely tested, was gone.  If they didn't believe
him, if they didn't believe the horror they had created, why go through such
lengths as these?  

He held up the remote and flipped on the TV monitor, then swiveled around to
face the lens of the video camera and hit record.

Looking out of the corner of his eyes he saw his crisp image appear on the
screen.  /Is that me?/ he asked himself.  He was thinner than he had ever
been, gaunt and pale.  And there was also a large amount of dried blood
matting his too long hair into a thick clump in the back.

He turned to the camera lens again.

"This is Dr. Brian Hazelip.  Was Dr. Brian Hazelip, coming at you - live.
That's funny.  I'm making this tape because, frankly, I don't know what else
there is to do.  Not yet.  Every ounce of evidence of my research has been
destroyed, along with what we created, and the possibility of a cure.  I don't
know what they plan to do about it.  I can only hope that the ones responsible
for this already have a cure in mind, a way to stop what's already begun.
They'll probably raze the entire town.  The problem is, you can't kill them
like that.  I don't yet know how to kill them."

He reached up tentatively and touched a finger to the hole blown through his
head, right above the bridge of his nose, from a high powered weapon by a
sniper hiding in the distance.  He started to laugh.  It started way down
deep, becoming high-pitched and hysterical.  He pulled his finger away and
stared at the clump of dried blood on the tip.

He began to cry.

*    *    *

J.Edgar Hoover FBI Building
Washington, DC  
August 13, 1998
8:49 am


"Agent Mulder, Agent Scully, would you step into my office?"

Mulder entered Skinner's office, taking a quick look at the Assistant
Director's desk to see if he could discern what this impromptu calling on the
carpet was all about.  He saw nothing incriminating, but did notice that his
superior's face was set like stone.  Skinner's eyes darted quickly, never
staying longer than a second on his subordinates' concerned faces.  Mulder
knew there was trouble when the most straight-forward individual he had ever
dealt with -- next to his partner -- had to fight to look him in the eye.

Scully, right in tune with her partner, sat at the very moment he did, Mulder
noticed.  He could tell by the set of her face that she also had detected
something seriously wrong, and like him was having a hard time waiting
patiently for the shoe to drop.  Mulder touched his tie nervously.  Scully
cleared her throat and took a deep breath.

Skinner cleared his own throat and adjusted his glasses before beginning.
"Thank you agents, for coming so quickly.  I realize you were about to leave
on a case, and I appreciate your postponing your investigation.  I asked you
here because I need your help."

"Is this a bureau matter, sir, or is it personal?" Scully asked.

"Personal, and confidential."  Skinner waited for a reaction from his agents.
He knew somehow he could count on them to at least hear him out, but he also
wanted to give them every opportunity to turn down his request for help before
he gave them any more information.  Both Scully and Mulder sat waiting for
him, so he continued.  "Either of you familiar with the name Dr. Brian
Hazelip?"

The name was familiar to Mulder, but it was Scully who spoke up.  

"Dr. Hazelip is a pioneer in the field of genetic research, particularly in
the area of human genome research.  Brilliant, flamboyant, unorthodoxed, the
youngest in his field.  He mysteriously resigned from an undisclosed project
he was working on at the CDC early this year, offering no explanation,
virtually disappearing from the scientific community.  Speculation was that
his health was failing.  More to the point, he was becoming mentally
unstable."  

Skinner passed Scully a thin file.  "Brian Hazelip is dead."

Scully quickly took the file and flipped through the pages, then passed it on
to her partner.

"What does this have to do with us, sir?" Mulder asked.

"Nothing," answered Skinner.  "I'm the connection here.  I served in Vietnam
with Brian's father, Jacob.  Jake was a medic.  I owed him my life, several
times over.  We were friends, but we didn't keep in touch after.  I saw him
once, about twelve years ago while I was a field agent on assignment in
Lubbock, where he married and raised a family.

"Two weeks ago I received this."  Skinner passed the agents copies of a long,
very detailed and hastily handwritten letter.  "Jake had been in contact with
his son, who had intimated that he was involved in a research project being
funded by our government that was of a classified nature.  Brian never
revealed specifics about this research, but gave his father the impression
that some of the results were not exactly what was expected, or desired.  On
August 3rd, Jake received a call from the County Sheriff's office in Harmony,
Texas.  Brian was found in a rented car at the bottom of a ravine with bullet
in his head.  Self-inflicted.  Apparently.  Three days later, his body
mysteriously disappeared from a Lubbock County Coroner's office."

"You want us to investigate Brian's death?"  Mulder asked, his impatience
growing along with is suspicions at the thought of government testing and
disappearing corpses.

"I want you to look into something else," said Skinner as he unlocked a drawer
in his desk and from it produced another file.  "I had to call in a lot of
favors and avoid stepping on a lot of toes to get this.  I'm showing it to
you, agents, because I believe you are the only two people in the entire
bureau who could find an explanation for what is contained in these pages.
This goes no further than this office.  Understood?"

Mulder and Scully both nodded and reached for the file, but Scully managed to
gently pry it from their superior's hands.  Mulder settled for looking on from
the side as Scully opened the file to a single page.

"This is a memo," she said, "a *classified* memo, from the Department of
Defense.  Sir, how??"

"Just read it."

Scully held the page out so that both she and Mulder could read it at the same
time.  The memo gave orders for a military action in Harmony, Texas.  It was a
high priority, but gave no further detail of the length and breadth of the
action.

Stapled to the inside back of the file was a tiny newspaper article clipped
from a Lubbock newspaper.  Scully quickly read the short article, an eyebrow
arching high.

Mulder reached over and took the file from her just as she looked up to
Skinner for further explanation.

"The entire population of Harmony," Skinner began, all the information
committed to memory, "all 920 of its citizens, were 'evacuated' after a
serious highway accident caused a major toxic spill from an overturned truck.
You had to hunt for this one.  It was buried on page 18 of a 24 page paper."

Skinner removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes, a bit too harshly, until his
face began to redden.  "Jacob Hazelip was killed in a head on collision 20
miles outside of Harmony, two nights ago."

All three were silent for moment. 

"So, agents, what do you think?"

"Frankly sir, I think we're more interested in what you think," said Mulder.

"I believe Brian Hazelip was somehow responsible for or connected with
whatever happened to that town.  I also believe Jake Hazelip was killed for
trying to find out what happened to his son."

"You believe the toxic spill is a cover-up for the military action?" Scully
asked.  "Maybe the action that isn't mentioned is the clean up."

"Where did they all go, Scully?" asked Skinner.  "The article says the
townspeople were evacuated, but there's no mention of where they ended up."

"And if it was only a toxic spill," added Mulder, "why would the DoD get
involved, sending troops to handled it instead of the letting the state's
Hazmat team take care of it?"

"And why does a brilliant recluse resurface only to commit suicide in such a
public manner?" posed Scully.

Skinner sat back and sighed, feeling the first bit of relief in days.  They
were with him.  He could count on them.

"I owe it to Jake to find out what really happened to him, his son, and the
people of Harmony.  Neither of you, however, owe me anything.  I'm asking for
your investigative skills, your flair for sifting the truth out of the
paranormal, as a favor to me.  Don't feel obligated.  I'm sure you both have
more than enough on your mutual plates.  I'm taking the redeye out of Dulles
to Lubbock and renting a car for the two hour drive to Harmony.  If you choose
to go, tickets will be waiting for you at the gate.  If not, I understand."

Skinner's normal body language returned, letting the agents know the meeting
was about over.   "Take some time to think about it," he said, "and let me
know when you've reached a decision."

Mulder looked at Scully, and saw the answer in her eyes.  He gave her a bit of
a smile and a nod.  

Both agents stood.  "When do we leave?" asked Mulder.

*    *    *


Dulles Airport
10:13 PM


Skinner stepped out of the taxi cab carrying the small black bag he always
kept packed for last minute trips.  He was anxious about making his flight,
even though there was plenty of time.  He was dreading what he might find once
in Harmony, and praying it wasn't too late to stop it.  

Someone stepped in front of Skinner.  He moved to the side to allow him to
pass, but whoever it was stepped before Skinner again and remained in his
path.

"Taking a little trip, Mr. Skinner?"

Skinner looked up into the face of the Smoking Man.  

He pulled the cigarette from his lips and exhaled.  Very little smoke came
out.

"You're in my way," said Skinner.

"Let me save you some trouble, my friend.  It's rather hot down south.  Very
hot.  You might want to postpone your trip for a time."

Skinner took a step around the CSM and continued on his path toward the
terminal door and the ticket counter.

The CSM dropped his exhausted cigarette to the ground and stepped on it, and
followed Skinner inside.  "Mr. Skinner," he called out, reaching into his
pocket for his pack of Morleys and shaking out a fresh one, "just what is it
you expect to accomplish?"

Skinner stepped up to the counter and presented his I.D. to the young woman.
"I expect to find answers to a few questions I've been carrying around for
years."  The young woman presented Skinner with his boarding pass and seat
assignment.  "Now if you'll excuse me," Skinner said, and hurried off to the
gate.

"Some questions aren't meant to be answered!" The CSM cried out, about to
light his Morley.

"Excuse me, sir," said the young woman, "but there's no smoking in the
terminal."

The CSM gave her a malevolent smile, and left.





August 14th 
10:07 am


Skinner drove the rented Taurus a little below the speed limit.  No vehicles
shared the flat, two lane black top with them.  The land surrounding them was
also flat, and covered with dried grass.  No trees, houses, or animals filled
wide open spaces.  Still, Skinner kept his eyes darting constantly for
anything out of the ordinary.

Mulder sat in the back, his long legs able to find little comfort sitting
behind Scully in the passenger's seat.  Her own knees practically met the
glove compartment to accommodate her partner.  The windows were up and the air
conditioner was on high, blasting cool air.  Even still, they could feel the
hot Texas sun blistering through the windshield.

They had not said much to one another the entire trip.  Skinner sat apart from
his agents on the plane trip to Texas.  Mulder had caught an hour's sleep on
the plane, and Scully at least two hours, but it appeared that Skinner had
spent the entire time staring out of the window.  At the motel, Mulder finally
fell asleep after two hours of listening to Skinner pace the floor of his room
next door.  The walls were thin as paper, so thin Mulder could even hear the
man make frequent deep, frustrated sighs.

"Sir," said Mulder, "I get the feeling you already know what we're looking
for."

Silence.  Skinner tightened his grip around the steering wheel.  "I have my
suspicions.  I'm not comfortable with sharing them with either of you yet.
Not until I'm certain."

"Certain of what?"

"Give it a rest, Mulder.  You'll know the moment I do."

"Sir," said Scully, "why don't you let me drive a while."

Skinner didn't answer, but brought the car to an abrupt stop.  Mulder and
Scully turned their gaze to whatever had caught their superior's attention
ahead.

There was a roadblock.  Even from this distance, through the heat haze rising
off the tarmac, they could tell the men standing in the middle of the road
wore khaki green fatigues and were heavily armed.  Very heavily armed.

Scully looked down at the map resting on her lap.  "This isn't Harmony, we're
still about 12 miles short."

"This could only mean one thing.  The situation's spreading fast, getting out
of hand.  It's not too late to turn back."  Skinner waited for his agents to
speak up.  When they did not, he pressed the accelerator and took them slowly
to the roadblock awaiting them.


*    *    *


Skinner slowed down to a stop as several soldiers raised their weapons and one
stepped out in front of his rented Taurus and raised a hand.  He was at least
six feet tall, his fine red hair starting to grow out and barely visible only
at very the top of his head.  

"Put on your happy faces," Mulder said under his breath.

"Keep still!" Skinner snapped like an irritated father.  "Don't say anything,
don't move.  We're lost.  We're not FBI. Not yet."

Skinner rolled down the window and a blast of hot dry air assaulted all three
agents, instantly activating their sweat glands.  The air had a putrid smell,
as if nearby there was a slaughterhouse belching fumes of decaying flesh into
the atmosphere.  

"What's the problem?"  Skinner asked the point soldier innocently.

"This location is off limits, sir.  Please turn your vehicle around."

The "please" in the soldier's request was merely a formality, Skinner noted.
"We have business here," he said.

"Not anymore sir."

"What happened?"

"Toxic spill, sir.  You're risking your health by being here."

"What about your health?"

"The American People pay me to be here sir, to protect you.  Now I'm going to
ask you one more time to turn around, or you will be taken into custody."

Skinner nodded and rolled the window up.  He put the Taurus in reverse and
slowly began to back up.

"How many men did you count, Mulder?"

"Thirteen visible."

"Scully?"

"The same.  Plus three jeeps, two Ford sedans, major fire power."

"And a partridge in a pear tree," Mulder concluded.  No one laughed.  

"What do you think the chances are of us punching through the perimeter and
surviving?"

"I believe those men will shoot first and ask questions later," answered
Scully.

"My thought exactly."  Skinner stopped the car, and took it out of reverse.
"Get down."

Mulder looked at Scully.  Scully looked at Mulder.  Both turned to Skinner.  

"I said GET DOWN."

They did as they were ordered, and heard the scream of rubber tires on hot
molten asphalt.  The car lurched forward, gunning towards the roadblock. 

Soldiers moved into position quickly and immediately opened fire.  The
windshield of the Taurus was peppered with bullet holes, as was the exterior,
each bullet echoing loudly in their ears as it smashed through metal and
fiberglass.

"Hold on!" Skinner cried as their car came closer and closer to two parked
jeeps standing bumper to bumper.

"Sir!" Scully cried, as if her voice could stop the moment.  But there was no
turning back.

The Taurus smashed through the jeeps, sending them flying apart and the Taurus
spinning out of control.  Skinner fought the wheel but it fought back.  He saw
a man-made trench rushing toward them.  He threw his hands up to cover his
face.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
End Chapter One

Type 52 (2/8)
by
Lacadiva 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Do not be far from me, for trouble is near
and there is no one to help.
Psalm 22:11
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Type 52 (2/8)


There was the most annoying whistle, loud and incessant, roaring in Mulder's
ears as he came to.  It was hot and sticky and he was beginning to sweat
through his shirt.  He moved to sit up, but pain in his head sent him back
down.  He tried to open his eyes, but they would not respond, his lids
remaining tightly shut at first.  He reached up and pried one eye open, and
the other followed suit automatically.  Light assaulted him, making him feel
as if he had been smashed in the head by a sledgehammer.  He finally forced
himself to sit up and look around.

He was inside what appeared to be a tent.  An army tent.  There was a small
desk, telecommunication equipment, remnants of a poorly eaten dinner on a
tray, maps, files and supplies.

He scooted forward on the hard cot, intended to stand but wanted to test his
legs out first.  He touched his head, the spot from where most of the pain
radiated, and found that a small square bandage had been applied.  As he stood
on shaky legs, an officer -- a tall, imposing African American with dark eyes
and a hawk-like nose, entered the tent.  

The soldier was armed, but kept his weapon at his side.  It was implied by the
way he regarded Mulder that he would use it if necessary --  indeed, savored
the possibility.

The soldier reached into his pocket and produced Mulder's FBI badge and
wallet, tossing them onto the table.

"What about my gun?" Mulder asked.

"We need to hold on to that for now, Agent Mulder," he said, his voice like
molten honey.  "I'm Corporal Hendricks.  How's your head?"

"I could use another one.  How are the others?"

"A little banged up, like yourself, but they'll survive.  That was pretty
stupid what your friend did.  I need to know just what the heck you three
thought you were doing."

"I'm not sure."

"Don't give me the amnesia routine, bucky."

"Frankly, I'm getting a little sick of telling my life story to strangers and
getting nothing in return."

"How 'bout this.  I show you mine, if you promise to show me yours.  A truck
carrying hazardous material overturned a few miles from here.  Noxious fumes
were released, and the population had to be evacuated."

"What kind of fumes?"

"Obviously, they didn't believe I needed to know, or they would have told me."

"Obviously, you have no idea what's really going in Harmony."

"Then why don't you educate me, bucky."

"Since when does the military play mop up for a toxic spill?"

"Since they ordered us to.  Now I'm done playing nice.  I want to know what
you're doing here, and just what is it you think you know that we don't."

Hendricks took a few steps closer.  Mulder knew by the man's size and by his
own shaky condition that Hendricks could snap him like a toothpick.

"You gonna beat it out of me?" Mulder asked, buying time.

"I'll take it any way I can get it, bucky."


*     *      *


For an inordinate amount of time, the world was moving in slow motion for
Scully.  From the moment Skinner put the pedal to the metal, it was if she
were on the outside observing the event rather than being a part of it.  Her
sore shoulder, however, served as a painful reminder that she was without a
doubt an active participant. 

She never lost consciousness through the entire ordeal, but feared for her
boss and her partner.  She saw blood on Mulder's head, and trickling from
Skinner's nose.  But her own condition -- pinned between the seat and the
dashboard until the jaws of life could be utilized to pull her out -- left her
unable to check on or treat the two men. 

Metal screamed as the door was pulled away.  Hands reached in and not-so-
gently removed her seat belt and pulled Scully from the vehicle.  They carried
her into a tent and a medic, no more than age 20 by the look of the peach fuzz
on his fair chin, immediately began checking her over.

"You'll want to examine the others for head trauma," Scully said.  "I'm fine."

"Don't you worry about them, ma'am."

Ma'am?  Scully practically shuddered.  "How much trouble are we in?"

The young medic, checking Scully's pupils, answered, "Lots."

"What are you protecting?"

"The American people."

"No, I mean, Harmony.  What are you pretending isn't there?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said.  But the look on his face
-- the sudden need to confess becoming apparent in his pale blue eyes, and the
slight quivering of his thin bottom lip -- belied his claim.

"Look, I'm a doctor," said Scully.  "Let me check on my friends."

"I can't.  You're restricted to this tent until you can be interrogated."

"Are we under arrest?"

"Probably."

"What will they do to us?"

"Line you up against a wall and shoot you."  

Scully's eyebrow arched practically to her hairline.

"I'm sorry.  Guess they call that gallows humor.  They'll ask you a bunch of
questions, then when they're satisfied, they'll put you in a truck and send
you back to Lubbock.  You might want to call yourself a lawyer if you got
one."

"What's your name?"  Scully asked.

"Beaulieu.  James Beaulieu, PFC."

"Dana Scully, FBI."

"No sh-!  S'cuze me, ma'am, I mean no kidding.  Federal Bureau of
Investigation, huh?  I thought about becoming an FBI agent once."

"What happened?"

"Got sidetracked.  Wound up in the army.  It's okay.  I got 'bout six more
months to go and I'm free as a bird."

"Private Beaulieu, can I call you James?"

"M'friends call me Jimmy."

"Jimmy, I'm worried about my friends.  Will you please check on them, and let
me know if they're alright?"

"I'll see what I can do.  You rest up, Miss Scully.  I'll be back in a few
minutes to take a look at that shoulder of yours."

Through with his preliminary exam, Beaulieu left the tent.  Scully saw the
shadow of an armed guard step before the entrance, and knew there was no way
out.  Not yet. 


*    *    *


Skinner awoke to the smell of cigarette smoke.  He sat up quickly with  the
image of a long time enemy in his head, his intention to put a fist through
his face, but weakness from his throbbing head and nausea made him tumble off
the military cot and hit the floor.  White hot pain shot through his right
side.  He weakly covered is aching ribs and challenged himself to breathe
evenly, to help quell the pain.  And then he remembered he was not alone.
Whoever was there with him just let Skinner pick himself up, offering no
assistance.

"Are you through?" came a seemingly disembodied voice.  A familiar voice.

Skinner pushed off the floor, onto his knees and looked into the face of the
operation's commanding officer. 

"Hello, Walter."

The man was Skinner's height, practically Skinner's build, but not as well
maintained.  His face was ragged with scars, as if a relief map had been
etched into his face with a dull knife.  His eyes were hidden behind dark
shades.  He smiled.

Walter stood and faced a man he never wanted to see again. "McGann."

Major General Matthew McGann dropped his cigarette to the dirt floor and
casually stomped it out.  "You should have stayed away, old friend."

"You should have died when you were supposed to, 'old friend'."  The last two
words left a sour taste in Skinner's mouth.

"Speak for yourself.  Just what in blazes do you think you're going to
accomplish here?"

"I know about Hazelip.  I know about Harmony."

"You know NOTHING.  Just a bunch of rumors and half-baked stories.  Just a
flashback to those heady, drug-induced days in the Nam.  Boy, we had some
times, didn't we?"

"I got a bullet in the back and shrapnel.  I'm a little hazy on the 'times'
you're referring to."

"Walter, Walter.  You got by easy, friend.  If it wasn't for me --"

"Save it."

Skinner took two shaky steps in McGann's direction and felt the floor coming
up to meet him.  He closed his eyes and steadied himself.  Now was not the
time to pass out.  

"The two agents with me," he began, voice quivering just enough to worry him,
"they don't know anything.  I told them nothing.  Let them go."

"Can't."

Skinner reached out and practically fell against McGann, his hands clenching
the man's uniform collar.  McGann didn't move or fight back. He only smiled.

"Do whatever you want to do with me, but let them go.  They won't come looking
for me.  They do as I tell them."

"Walt, you know I can't.  You know what's at stake."

Skinner pushed off from McGann, letting him go.  McGann merely straightened
his collar and headed for the tent entrance.

"What happens now?" Skinner demanded.

McGann stopped, not turning back to face Skinner.  "It'll be quick, I promise
you. . .old friend."  With that, McGann left.

Skinner made his way back to the cot, sat heavily, trying to figure out how
they could escape.

*   *   *


Scully hadn't meant to fall asleep, but exhaustion overtook her.  She couldn't
tell if she'd slept five minutes or five hours, but she felt horrible just the
same.  As she sat up, she saw the tent flap opening, and noticed the sun on
the wane.  Jimmy Beaulieu entered.  He looked nervous.

"Hey, Miss Scully.  I checked on your friends."

"And?"

"The tall guy, Mulder, he's gonna be okay.  Got a big old egg on his head."

"An egg?"

"Yeah, a big lump."

"Is that your medical opinion?"

"Sort of.  Guess you know I ain't really no doctor.  Just got the duty cause
the real doctor's. . .well, he had a little accident.  The other guy --"

"Skinner," she said, realizing that his hesitation mean bad news.  "What about
him?"

"He's got a concussion and some messed up ribs.  Can't tell whether they're
broken or not.  He needs to be in a hospital, that's for sure."

"You'll get him to one, won't you?"

Jimmy looked away from Scully.  "That there's the problem, ma'am.  McGann's
orders are nobody leaves.  Not yet.  Not till morning.  By then it might be
too late."

"Too late?"  Scully stood.  "Is he that bad?  You have to let me see him.  I'm
a doctor.  You can't withhold treatment -- "

"No!  Miss Scully. I ain't supposed to talk about this with civilians.  I
ain't supposed to talk about this to no one.  But I have to tell you I am
scared something fierce."

"What are you scared of, Jimmy?"

"The night."

*    *   *


Mulder paced around the claustrophobic confines of his tent, trying to keep
his energy up.  He could hear voices outside, and considered a little innocent
eavesdropping. 

The voices were harsh whispers.  Most of the words he could not discern.  He
could tell though that an argument was ensuing between two men, one demanding
to be obeyed, the other, pleading for an appeal.  Something about the
darkness, something about breaching the perimeter by dark.  A third voice
entered the argument.  Mulder immediately recognized it as Hendricks.  He'd
told Hendricks everything he knew, which was actually little more than
nothing, and Hendricks seemed satisfied and left.  Was he coming back to see
how much more he could squeeze out of Mulder if he exerted a bit of physical
pressure?  Mulder looked around for something he could use as a weapon.


*    *    *


Despite the years and the wealth of new experiences that separated the past
from the present, Skinner still awoke occasionally with nightmares.  The
littlest things could trigger it, sending him back into the jungles, back into
muddied trenches and rice paddies, back into burning villages.  The sound of
helicopters.  Backfire from a car.  A child's cry.  

Skinner woke up and found it a little harder to breathe.  He thought at first
it was due to the nature of his nightmare, cast back into the hell that was
war.  As he came to full consciousness he realized his inability to breathe
without pain was due to his condition.  

"Hey!"  he called out.  It took him a moment to get in enough of a lung full
of air to speak again.  "I need a doctor."

The young soldier that had stopped him earlier stepped into the tent.  "What's
the matter?"

"I said I need a doctor.  I can't breath."

"We ain't got a doctor."

"Scully.  Agent Dana Scully, she was in the car with me.  She's a doctor."

"I'll see what I can do."

"What's your name, son?"  Skinner asked gently, hoping to personalize,
humanize things a bit more, hoping it would engender a little sympathy and
cooperation. 

"Private First Class William Hawley."

"Private Hawley.  You remind me of me a few years ago.  Where's McGann?"

"He's busy, sir.  I'll go see about that doctor for you," he said, and left.

"Wait!"  Skinner tried to sit up, but the pain was unbearable.  He clenched
his teeth and lay back down.  


*   *   *


The timing could not have been worse, Scully thought.  Just as Jimmy was about
to let loose a bit of truth, tell her what had frightened him so, another
soldier barged in and interrupted.  He merely gestured for Scully to follow
him, then escorted her to a tent that was very similar to the one to which she
had been remanded.  The soldier opened the flap, holding it like a gentleman,
and allowed Scully to enter first.  She was relieved to see Skinner there.

"Sir!"  She went immediately to his side and began assessing the damage.
"I'll need a first aid kit, some hot water, towels, and some assistance.
Perhaps Private Beaulieu. . .?"

The young soldier left without a word.

"Agent Scully, are you okay?"

"I'm fine, sir.  Just a little sore."

"What about Mulder?"

"They say he's fine, but I haven't seen him yet."  

She probed along Skinner's sides with her fingers.  He winced, but made every
effort not to make a sound.  Finally, he lost, when she found the sorest spot.

"Sorry, sir."

"It's hard to breathe."

"We've got to get you to a hospital."

"That won't happen."

"They can't keep us here."

"We have to get out, any way we can, or we're dead.  What they're protecting,
they don't want anybody to know about.  They're not going to let us waltz out
of here."

"Just what are they protecting, sir?"

Skinner took a ragged breath and looked away.  Before he could answer, Jimmy
and Private Hawley entered.  

"Help me sit up," Skinner ordered Scully.

"No sir, you should lie still."

Skinner ignored her, and attempted to sit up on his own.  The pain was close
to unbearable.  Scully reached out and helped support him into a slumped
position.

"Listen, Hawley, if what I think has happened, we need to be as far away from
here as possible."

"I don't know what you're talking about, sir."

"Don't play with me.  You know and I know what McGann is trying to cover up,
and it's not going to work.  It's already spreading."

Scully looked at the two soldiers.  They were both as pale as ghosts.

"Somebody want to tell me," Scully asked, "what it is everyone is so afraid
of?"

Jimmy turned to Scully.  "The dead don't die here."

"Shut up!" Hawley yelled, pushing Jimmy toward the tent flap.  "What's got in
you?"

"Give it up, Hawley!  We're dead if we stay another minute in this God-
forsaken place!"  Turning back to Scully and Skinner, he said, "The dead, you
kill 'em, but they won't stay dead.  They come back, and they come  after you.
The dead feed off the living!"

Hawley grabbed Jimmy in a choke hold.  Skinner tried to get up to help the
young soldier, but the pain in his side sent him back down on the cot. 

"Stop it!" Scully shouted.  "Let him go!"

Hawley released Jimmy, giving him a harsh shove.  

"It ain't no sense in lying to these people," Jimmy said, rubbing his sore
neck.  "Give 'em a chance to get out of here before all hell breaks lose."

"It already has," said Hawley, and stalked out of the tent.

Scully looked from Skinner to Jimmy, waiting for an explanation.  "Someone
want to tell me what this is all about?  What do you mean about the dead not
staying dead, and feeding off the living?"

"During the war," Skinner said, slightly out of breath, "the Viet Nam War, the
DoD conducted classified experiments using American Soldiers.  Wounded, dead
or dying American soldiers.  I was one of them.  The purpose was to perfect a
method of prolonging life even in the face of life-threatening injury, a way
to keep soldiers alive long enough to get them from the battlefield to help.
They created a virus, several types, actually -- I won't pretend I understand
the science behind it -- and injected soldiers with various strains without
their knowledge or consent.  Some died, whether from their wounds or the
virus' toll on their bodies, I can't say.  Others, like me, were revived right
there in the jungles, then flown to medical facilities where we were treated
and kept in isolation for several weeks while they tested us.  I was
unconscious most of the time.  And I never knew this even happened to me,
until Jake Hazelip contacted me while I was field agent, and confessed his
part in it."

"This virus worked?"  Scully asked.

"Too well.  What began as a way to prolong life became a possible weapon.  It
fell under the government's moratorium against biological weapons testing, but
they continued under the guise of altruistic endeavor. They continued the
research, and even though they knew what they were creating, they wouldn't
stop.  Whatever they've come up with does the job all right, so well that even
after somatic death, reanimation occurs anywhere from three, up to ten,
minutes."

Scully could not speak for a moment.  When she found her voice it was little
above a whisper.  "This is impossible, sir.  You can't revive a body 3
minutes, much less 10 full minutes after somatic death."

"Our medic," said Jimmy, "was attacked and killed by one of them, them things.
We put his body, what was left of him, in a body bag inside a tent to send
back to his folks.  Two hours later, that body bag was found on the floor
moving around.  Hawley unzipped it there was Doc Anderson, big as day and
twice as alive."

"Maybe it was a mistake," Scully insisted.  "Maybe he wasn't dead."

"He was dead, alright, Miss Scully.  He didn't have no heart."

"What?"

"His heart had been ripped right out his chest by the man who attacked him.
The man ATE the Doc's heart."

Scully felt cold sweat trickle down her back.  She looked to Skinner for a
hint that what the solider had told her was a lie.  Skinner just looked away.
"This is insane!" she insisted.

"You're right," said Jimmy, "it is insane."

From outside the tent, someone screamed.

*    *    *

Mulder was weighing various objects in his hand, searching for something with
which he could throw or bludgeon his captors with as he plotted his escape,
when he heard the first scream.

The scream triggered a flurry of activity. He raced to the tent flap, but
before he could reach it, Hendricks was stepping in, an AK47 in one hand and
Mulder's Sig Sauer in the other.  He tossed the Sig to Mulder.  

"Stay here till I say otherwise!" Hendricks shouted and raced back out of the
tent.  

There was gun fire, the sound of tires screeching, dogs barking, and screams.

"No!!! He's got me!  Somebody shoot it!  Shoot it!  My arm, he's got my arm!
He bit me!  Kill it! Let me go!  Kill it! Let me go!  Kill it!"

Mulder couldn't take it any longer.  He reached for the flap and pulled it
back --

A man's head popped in.  Something was very wrong with him.  His eyes were
cloudy white, his lips slack and teeth stained with blood.  He smelled like
death.  He opened his mouth and moved toward Mulder, eyes fixed on Mulder's
throat.  

"Get back!" Mulder shouted.  The man continued, entering the tent.  Mulder
raised his Sig and fired once, hitting the creepy man in the chest.  He
stumbled back a few steps from the impact, but, other than that, the shot
didn't phase him.  Black blood like crude oil poured from the chest wound.  He
hissed at Mulder and kept coming, snapping at him as he got closer.

Mulder aimed for its head and pulled the trigger.  The top of his head blew
off, splattering the tent walls.  The man fell in a heap, dead, still.  Mulder
stood shocked, unable to move for a moment, until he heard another scream --
Scully's.

He raced out of the tent.

The first thing he saw when he stepped outside was a woman straddling a
soldier, her face buried in his neck.  The scene would have been lewd, until
Mulder realized that the woman was not kissing the soldier, but eating her way
through his throat.  Mulder raised his weapon and fired, blowing the woman's
head apart.  Her body collapsed to the ground.  The soldier lay whimpering,
bleeding.  There was a huge bloody hole where his Adam's apple used to be.  

Mulder moved to him, a hand out to meet the soldier's bloodied, outstretched
hand.  Just as Mulder's hand touched the soldier's, Hendricks was there,
knocking Mulder out of the way, his AK47 held high in the crook of his right
arm, a hand gun in his left hand. He lowered the gun to the soldier's head and
pulled the trigger.

"NO!" Mulder shouted, but it was too late.

Hendricks turned to Mulder with a disgusted look on his face.  "There can be
no survivors!  If you're bitten by one of these things, you become one, got
that!"

"What?"

"Just shoot first and ask questions later.  If any of those zombie mofo's get
close," Hendricks hollered as he aimed and fired at another attacker
approaching with arms outstretched, "pop them in the head.  That's the only
thing that will put them all the way down!"

Something grabbed Mulder's arm.  He turned to find a zombie, half it's face
blown away, pulling himself toward Mulder.  Mulder fired, sending a bullet
straight through what was left of the attacker's head.  

"He tried to bite me!" Mulder said incredulously.

"You finally figured that out, bucky?  When the dead wake up, they're hungry."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

End Chapter Two.  

Type 52 (3/8)
by
Lacadiva 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Type 52 (3/8)


Chaos reigned.  The entire camp was now a mass of burning tents and vehicles,
dead bodies and puddles of blood.  Rank broke down, McGann was nowhere to be
found, so it was every man for himself.  

Mulder ran through every inch of the camp, firing at the walking dead to clear
his way.  "Scully!" he cried, finding piles of bodies and kicking them apart
in search of his partner.  There was no sign of Skinner, either.  "Scully!"

"Give it up, bucky."

Mulder spun around, aiming his weapon at Hendricks, right between the eyes.  

"Don't shoot, I ain't dead yet."

Mulder relaxed his stance, but the urgency remained.  "I have to find them!
Scully!  Skinner!"

"Yeah?  Well, I got a jeep, and it's got a half a tank of gas, and I'm out of
here in 10 seconds.  You can come with me or you can stay here and keep
looking for your friends."

"I can't leave them here.  I can't leave her here."

"Look, bucky, --"

"The NAME'S MULDER!"  He looked away, forced himself to calm.  "She's my
partner.  I owe her everything! . I can't leave her!"

"Mulder, listen to me!  They're either dead, or they got lucky and jumped on
the other jeep and made it out of here.  Now are you staying, or going?"

Mulder took one more look around the camp. Nothing, no one moved.  He closed
his eyes, praying he was doing the right thing, praying that Scully and
Skinner had both found a safe way out of this, and survived.  Mulder's
shoulders drooped as he followed Hendricks to the jeep. He climbed in.
Hendricks revved the engine and took off.

"Where are we going?" Mulder asked.

"There's an army medical facility a few miles of here.  We'll be safe there.
We've got zero chance of making it if we try to get any further than that.
Those things are everywhere.  I got ammo and weapons in the back, but all it
takes is one bite and you're toast."

"What are they?  What happened to them?"

"Beats the heck out of me, Mulder.  They just dropped my butt here and said,
here, keep them in and everybody else out.  A week ago, this little kid comes
wandering into camp and tried to bite me.  Next thing I know all hell breaks
loose, those things are everywhere.  We started out a hundred men strong.  Now
it's just you and me, bucky."

Mulder prayed that wasn't true.  The thought of one of those things getting
hold of Scully and --

Mulder leaned out of the jeep and vomited.  

"Aw, man!" said Hendricks, disgusted.


*    *   *


Scully stayed down, covered under a bed of wet leaves, trying not to tremble.
She felt something cold latch onto her hand, then she realized it was Skinner.
He squeezed her hand gently, as both lay waiting.

They could feel the ground rumbling under them, and heard the sound of an
engine.  

Skinner peeked just enough to see a huge military truck heading their way.  He
gave the area, lit only by dull moon light, a good look, searching for more
reanimated individuals, then rose, clutching his side and holding his breath
until he made it to his feet.

Scully rose to stand beside him.  She was still trembling.  She could not
believe what she had seen.

The truck came to a stop a few feet ahead of them, and Jimmy, behind the
wheel, signaled to them to join him.  Scully helped Skinner climb in, and
accepted his big hand when he reached out to her to make her climb easier.

"Here we go," Jimmy said, shifting gears.

"NO!  We have to go back for Mulder.  You said we'd go back for him!"

"I was just there.  Ain't nothing or nobody left alive 'cept for us.  *For
now*."

"I need to see for myself."  Scully reached for the door to open it.

"NO!" Jimmy, yelled.  "Them things are everywhere!  You're partner is gone,
forget about him.  If they even so much as nicked him, he's no doubt out there
with them things right now, walking with them and looking to get you next."

"Either come with me, or don't, but I'm going to find my partner."

"Wait, Scully," said Skinner.  He turned to Jimmy.  "You're sure, no one back
there is alive?"

"Dang sure."

Scully turned to Skinner with pleading eyes.  "Sir, I have to know.  I have to
be sure."

"Then I'll go with you."

"No, sir."

"Yes!"  Skinner turned to Jimmy.  "Give us a couple of guns, and you can go."

"All right!  All right!  We'll all go back and take a look if it will make you
two satisfied.  But then we get out of here, got that?  Them things come in
waves, and I don't plan on being around when the next wave hits."

Jimmy backed the truck up and headed for what was left of the base camp.


*   *    *


Mulder stared straight ahead into the darkness, seeing everything and nothing
as they drove.  Hendricks kept the lights off, preferring to draw as little
attention as possible.  Mulder felt vulnerable in the wide open jeep, and
Hendricks could tell.

"Don't worry, Mulder," he said.  "One thing we got going for us -- the dead
don't move too fast."  Hendricks laughed.  Mulder cracked a smile.  It was as
if he were coming out of his trance.

"So," Hendricks continued now that the ice was broken, "what made you and your
friends wander down here and try to spy on our little operation?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"C'mon, Spooky."

Mulder turned to Hendricks, his level of paranoia on the rise.

"That's right, I know.  We ran a check on your ID before the party started.
You're FBI, working in a obscure little department called 
X Files.  So tell me, what's an X File?"

"It falls between W and Y."

"I'm not laughing."

"Unexplained cases.  Paranormal phenomena. Mysterious deaths, disappearances.
Finding answers to questions that sometimes don't exist in the natural world."

"I'd say this qualifies, wouldn't you?"

"You got a theory?"

"I always got a theory," Hendricks said with a smile.  "I've seen some freaky
stuff, but this takes the cake."

"So what's your theory?"

"Government's always testing stuff on people.  It's a known fact."

"I wish you'd tell my colleagues."

"Sometimes things get a little out of hand.  I'm no scientist, but it don't
take no degree to understand that if you kill something, it's got no business
getting back up and trying to eat you.  So I figure they got some bio-weapon,
something they want to use on a hostile entity, but they got to test it first,
so they test it in a little town that no one will miss if something happens.
Until, something happens.  Now they got to contain it."

"You mean, cover it up."

"Whatever.  But you can't contain this.  It took two weeks for three entire
towns to get infected.  Imagine what'll happen if it should reach a city as
big as Dallas.  You got a real situation on your hands."

"What is it?  A drug?"

"I heard it's a bug."

"A bug?  You mean, an insect?"

"No, a bug, like a cold, or the flu.  A virus.  All I know is they call it
Type 52.  Look, there it is."

Moonlight spilled on what looked like a rundown one story brick building off
in the distance.  Several hundred feet before it and all around it was a giant
electrical fence covered with barbed wire and warning signs.  The entrance
gate was broken and bent, wide enough for a slim body to slip through.

"Get your gun ready, Mulder.  They have a tendency to be drawn to this area."

Mulder checked his Sig, then reached in the back and pulled out an AK47 and
looked it over.

"Be careful with that," said Hendricks.  "That sucker kicks."


*    *    *


At Scully's insistence, they made three revolutions around the camp.  There
was no sign of Mulder, or of anything alive.  All who could escaped did, and
those left now lay with bullets in their heads.

"Thank you, Jimmy," she said, the need to cry evident on her face, but she
would not allow it.  Skinner shifted, though it caused him pain, and gently
urged Scully to lay her head upon his shoulder.  She did not protest.  She was
exhausted.  And from what she could tell, Fox Mulder was dead.  Or undead.

"Where to now?"  Skinner asked.

"I hate to say this," Jimmy said, "but we're real low on gas."

"Then we'll get out and siphon some from one of the vehicles out there."

"We could, but just because those bodies ain't moving don't mean they ain't
infected."

"How far," asked Scully, "can we get?"

"We can maybe make it into the next town.  Although if the infection's spread
we could be walking into a death trap.  Three living people among a town full
of the dead, we wouldn't have a prayer.  Or we could back track, back to where
it all started."

"You mean back to the camp?"

"No, back to the lab."


*    *    *


Mulder climbed cautiously out of the jeep, his newly acquired AK47 ready in
one hand, his Sig in the other.  Hendricks followed, equally armed.  Together
the men approached the fence.

Hendricks picked up a rock and threw it at the fence to test whether or not it
was still electrified as the warning signs read.  The rock hit the fence then
the ground.  Nothing.  

Hendricks motioned to Mulder to watch his back as he reached for the broken
gate entrance.  Mulder stuck his Sig down the back of his pants and pulled the
rifle up, ready to fire.  He could feel his hands sweating around the weapon,
could feel his knees beginning to shake.  

Hendricks kicked the metal a few times, creating a wider berth, then slipped
through, cautiously and successfully avoiding the barbed wired.  Mulder
quickly joined him.  His judgment was off by just a hair as he bent down to
crawl through.  A razor on the barbed wire caught his shirt cutting so cleanly
across the top of Mulder's shoulder he barely felt it.  Once he cleared the
gate and stood, he felt something warm and wet running down his chest.  He
looked down to see the dark red splotch forming on his white shirt, and then
felt the sting and burn of the wound.

"Ach!  What's . . .?"

"Yo, bucky, that's like dangling a side of beef in a shark-infested pool!"
Hendricks pulled a bandana from around his sweaty neck and handed it to
Mulder.  "You trying to get us killed!  Clean that up."

Mulder snatched the bandana from the man's ham-fisted hands and dabbed blood
away quickly, suddenly feeling like a sitting duck.

"That's the facility just up ahead," said Hendricks.  "No lights, but that may
be to our advantage."

"What, the dead don't see well in the dark?"

"One can only hope.  Just watch your back."

Hendricks began walking.  Mulder kept the pace, watching for movement in the
darkness behind them.  

Hendricks stopped abruptly.  "Did you hear that?"

Mulder didn't, but he wasn't about to deny that something was there.  Both men
raised their weapons and stood back to back, straining their eyes in the still
darkness.

Mulder heard it that time.

His muscles tensed, his jaw locked, his eyes widened as he turned his weapon
in the direction of the sound. 

Shuffling.  Moaning.  Groaning.  

"Where are they!" Mulder whispered.

"There," said Hendricks.  In the distance, approaching the barbed wire fence,
were a pack of undead -- well over two dozen -- heading their way.

"RUN!"  Hendricks cried and took off.  Mulder followed.

Mulder's legs felt weak, as if they were going to give out on him at any
moment, but he kept pumping, pushing himself, keeping up with Hendricks.
Mulder was an experienced runner, and there were many times when he found
himself running for his life, but never for this long, and never from beings
who wanted to dine on him.

He found himself remembering Tooms, and wishing that Tooms was all he had to
worry about now.

"This way!" Hendricks yelled, veering to the left. Mulder saw before them what
looked like a small, one floor municipal building sitting in the middle of
nowhere.  The door was locked.  Hendricks moved to a window and smashed it
open with the butt of his assault weapon.  He climbed through and extended a
hand to help pull Mulder inside.

"Quick!" said Hendricks, "block that window."  

Mulder threw himself against a giant bookshelf filed with dust and cobwebs and
pushed it until it stood in front of the broken window.  He turned back to
find Hendricks punching a numerical panel by odd, out of place looking double
metal doors.  He looked around the entire room.  Just dusty desks and chairs,
broken phones and office equipment.

"Is this your army medical facility?" Mulder asked.  "Cause if it is, I hate
to tell you, but these walls aren't going to hold once those things start
trying to get in!"

"Shut up!  You made me mis-dial."

Mulder watched as Hendricks began punching numbers in again. A small red light
on the numerical panel suddenly came on. 

"This will take a moment," Hendricks said.  "Take a look outside.  Are they
close?"

Mulder went to the bookcase and pushed it away by a couple of inches.  He
peered out to see that the zombies -- now twice the number that were pursuing
them before -- were within ten feet of the small building.

"They're almost on us!" Mulder yelled, pushing the bookcase back to cover the
window.

"Come on!" Hendricks yelled at the metal doors, banging on it.  The red light
turned green.  "Mulder!"

Mulder turned as the metal doors opened. There was a silver metal elevator car
waiting for them.  Before Mulder could move forward, the bookcase came
crashing down beside him, and a sea of decaying arms thrust through the broken
window, all reaching for him.  Mulder opened fire, but it did little to stop
them.  The zombies were like crabs in the bottom of a boiling pot, climbing
all over one another to get through the window, to get to Mulder.

"Save your ammo!" Hendricks cried.  "Let's go, Mulder!"

Mulder turned to run.  Three zombies pushed their way through the window and
hit the floor, crawling, slithering, reaching for Mulder.  More were finding
their way through.  Mulder kicked one back, practically decapitating the
decomposing creature.  He turned to run but tripped over a broken telephone,
and careened to the floor.  He heard his ankle practically snap and felt
something painfully, unnaturally shift in his shoulder.  Mulder could only cry
out.

"Mulder!" Hendricks screamed.  He was holding the elevator, knowing that if he
stepped out and the door closed, he'd have to key in the code again, and wait.
There was no time.  Zombies were everywhere.  If he let go of the door hold
button, it would mean leaving Mulder there like a sacrificial lamb.  He
couldn't do that.  He'd have to take the chance.

Hendricks leaned out, grabbed a wooden chair and slammed it between the
closing doors.  He could hear the sound of wood splintering and snapping under
the pressure of the heavy doors as he leaped off the elevator and grabbed
Mulder by the back of his shirt collar.  "C'mon!" he demanded.

Mulder forgot the pain as he felt the cold hands of a zombie latch upon his
ankle and pull.  He felt like a wishbone, being pulled a stretched in two
different directions.  He aimed his assault weapon at the zombie on his foot
and fired.  It's head exploded in a gush of bloody pieces of skull and brain
matter.

Hendricks practically fell when the zombie let go and he was given a hint of
how strong he really was.  He was able to drag Mulder towards the elevator
car, just as the doors crushed what little was left of the wooden chair.  He
pried the doors the rest of the way open and fell in, followed by Mulder.  The
doors slammed closed on Mulder's busted ankle. Mulder screamed out.  The doors
flew open again and three zombies stood ready to enter.  Hendricks and Mulder
both opened fire and watched as the zombies were blown backwards and ripped
apart by gunfire.

The doors finally closed.  The elevator car began it's slow, smooth descent.

Mulder and Hendricks were both breathing hard, practically panting.
Hendricks, his back against the wall, slid down and squatted on the floor,
exhausted, relieved, his weapon cradled in his lap.  "You okay?" he asked
Mulder.

"Yeah, I think so.  You?"

"Yeah."

Mulder tried to move his foot, but his ankle protested, making him suck air
through clenched teeth.  His shoulder felt worse.  He was pretty sure he had
dislocated it.

"Yeah, you're fine, all right," Hendricks said sarcastically.  He patted
Mulder on the shoulder, sending another wave of pain through the agent.

"Aaaaccchh!  Don't..!"

"Sorry."

"How far down are we going?"

"One stop short of hell, bucky."


*     *     *


The halls were dark, but the lights were fitted with sensors that detected
movement and warmth.  As Mulder and Hendricks stepped off the elevator, lights
for as far as they could see down the long hall way were blinking on.  

The bright whiteness gave a sterile effect to the walls and floors, a
coldness.  A deadness.  Mulder walked, favoring his busted ankle, holding his
arm against him to keep from moving his shoulder.  He followed Hendricks, who
seemed to know where he was going, but was moving slowly and cautiously
nonetheless.

"What is this place?" Mulder asked.

"US army underground research and medical facility.  Nobody's supposed to know
this exists."

"Does that mean you have to kill me?"

"I'll just put you on the elevator going back up."

"My lips are sealed."

"Tell anybody you want.  Whatever happened to turn those people into zombies
happened right here.  The world will know soon enough."

Hendricks stopped at a door with another numerical panel.  "If memory serves,"
he said, "this should be the communications room."  He dialed the access code
and both jumped as the lock on the door disengaged loudly, echoing through the
metallic hall.

Hendricks entered the room, with Mulder watching his back.  Again, the lights
automatically blinked on.  There was a huge array of communications hardware,
but most of it had been destroyed.  Hendricks cursed and kicked a chair across
the room.

Mulder moved immediately to the main console and tried the power switch. There
was juice, but no signal.  Nothing but static.

"This is a nightmare!" said Hendricks.  "Who would deliberately trash the
place like this?"

"Can it be fixed?"

"Won't know until we try."

Mulder turned off the power.  "How long before we can expect a rescue?"

"Depends."

"On what?"

"Whether they want us rescued or not."

Mulder leaned against the console, his shoulder in agony.  He knew all too
well that the easiest way to ensure silence would be to let them all simply
die.  Plausible denial would be in place, and Scully, Skinner and Mulder would
simply be forgotten after a time.  /Hendricks was right/, he though.  /This is
a nightmare/.

He watched as Hendricks set about repairing the busted equipment.  Mulder
simply observed, unable to contribute to the repair job, mostly because he had
no idea what went where, but also because, between his shoulder and his ankle,
he could barely move.  

After about 20 minutes of tinkering, Hendricks began to laugh.  

"What?"

"Okay, it's not optimum, but it's what we got.  We can't receive, but we can
transmit.  The mics are shot, but, unless I screwed up, and I doubt it, I got
this thing sending out a distress signal in Morse code every fifteen minutes.
Somebody's bound to hear us.  And they gotta come all the way out here just to
shut us up."

Mulder wanted to thank the corporal, but he was in much too much pain.  Mulder
held himself stiffly, as if the slightest bit of movement was unbearable.

"Hey, bucky," said Hendricks, "what's up with your shoulder?"

"Um. . .I think I dislocated it," he said weakly.

Hendricks reached out and laid a warm, beefy hand on Mulder's shoulder,
probing, kneading.  Mulder fought the urge to cry out. 

"Yep," said Hendricks.  You did a job on it, all right.  I can fix it for you.
But I'm not gonna lie to you.  It's gonna hurt like a mofo."

"It already does," Mulder said, almost whining.  He hated it when he whined.

Hendricks grabbed onto the Mulder's arm and shoulder.  "Hold steady then.  I'm
going to count to three, okay?"

Mulder nodded, stealing himself for the pain.

"Here we go.  One. . .two. . ."

Hendricks yanked Mulder's arm hard, hearing as well as feeling the bone
grating until it snapped back into the socket.  Mulder screamed and fell
forward, landing hard on his knees.

"Three.  Hendricks said, with a bit of a laugh.  "You'll be okay, bucky."

Mulder didn't know whether to thank the man, or jack him up.  He did, however,
accept Hendricks' outstretched hand to help him back to his feet.

As Mulder straightened, he heard a noise, like a faint tapping on pipes.
"What was that?" he asked.

Hendricks looked up, as if tuning his ears to whatever frequency Mulder was
using.  Both men heard it that time.

"Sounds like we're not alone, bucky."

They made their way down the hall, to find the source of the sound.  Hendricks
stopped by a security door with yet another numerical panel.
"Stay frosty, Mulder.  Those things could have found a way in here.  I don't
think that's possible, but I never thought things like them could ever exists,
so there you go."

"Frosty," Mulder repeated.  As much as it still hurt to move, Mulder
repositioned his assault weapon, ready to fire.

"I think I remember the sequence," said Hendricks, a finger reaching for the
first number on the panel.  Before he could touch it the door suddenly
whooshed open on it's own.  Something swift hit Hendricks under the chin,
sending his head snapping back and the big soldier fell backwards to the
floor.  Mulder moved to fire but found a bigger, nastier weapon aimed right at
his head.  He looked up into the face of a man with bluish-white eyes and skin
beginning to decay just around the lips.  He had a bandage on his head that
was spotted with blackening blood. He looked like a zombie, but this one
smiled.  And spoke.

"Freeze!  Don't move. I will kill you both.  Put the gun down.  Put it down
now or I'll blow your head right off your shoulders!"

Mulder complied, placing the assault weapon on the floor, slowly lifting one
arm in surrender and keeping the other close to his chest.  "Who are you?"
Mulder asked.

"Who are you?" the quasi-zombie demanded.  "How did you get in here?"

"He knew the code," said Mulder, gesturing his raised had toward Hendricks
still unconscious on the floor.  "My name is Mulder.  I'm FBI."

"What are you doing here?"

"We were attacked.  We took a jeep and drove it through --"

"Attacked?"

"Yes.  The soldiers were killed.  The people who attacked us
were. . .they looked like --"

"Me?"

"Yeah."

"Did they bite you?"

"What?

"DID THEY BITE YOU!"

"No!"

"You're bleeding!"

"I stumbled into some barbed wire."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes!"

"Do you have any idea what else you've stumbled into?"

"I'm beginning to wish I hadn't.  Do you mind telling me who you are?"

The armed man smiled, showing rotting teeth stained with blood.  He looked
like one of them, one of the undead.  Mulder felt his flesh crawl.

"I'm Brian."

"Brian Hazelip?"

"Yeah.  Do I know you?  Were you on the project?"

"No.  I heard you were dead."

"You heard right.  You two alone?"

"At the moment.  I was traveling with two friends.  Another man, and a woman."

"Did they make it here with you?"

"I don't think so."

"Then they're toast.

"Why don't you let me go find them, and I'll be out of your way."

"What are you, nuts?  You'll never find your friends.  If you do, they're one
of them.  They'll de-bone you like a fish and have you for lunch.  So don't
even think about leaving here to go and look for them. It's suicide.  Besides,
I need you.  Both of you."

"What?"

"I need your blood."

Without another word, Hazelip lifted his weapon and smashed it against
Mulder's head.  Mulder only felt pain for a split second.  And then he hit the
ground.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
End Chapter 3

Type 52 (4/8)
by
Lacadiva 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Where you die, I will die, and there I will be buried.  May the Lord deal with
me, be it ever so severely, if anything but death
separates you and me.
Ruth 1:17
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Type 52 (4/8)


"How much farther?" Skinner asked.  The jolting and jarring of the old
military truck was making his ribs feel as if each bump was a knife thrusting
through him.  Scully did what she could to help support him, but even she was
feeling the effects of the harsh ride.  Her shoulder felt as if on fire.

"Just up ahead," Jimmy said pointing.  And then he caught sight of movement in
the headlights.  He quickly turned the lights off and stopped the truck.

"What is it?" Scully demanded.  "Why did you stop?"

"Look," Jimmy said, pointing at the windshield, or rather, what was beyond.
Several ragged bodies were milling around aimlessly, way off in the distance. 

"No!" said Scully, unintentionally.  It was easy to keep calm and think
rationally through most dangerous situations.  Indeed, another reason for her
"Ice Queen" moniker was her ability to keep a straight face and show no fear
through even the worst circumstances.  But this was different.  This was
beyond anything she had been trained for, or had witnessed since partnering
with Mulder on the X Files.  Of all the horrors she had encountered, nothing
had prepared her for this.  She felt her body growing cold from the feet up,
despite the heat and proximity of the two men she sat between.  She pulled out
her gun which Jimmy had returned to check the clip.  Her hands were shaking
uncontrollably.  Skinner reached out and with one big hand enveloped both of
hers, transferring warmth as well as reassurance.

"We could use a plan right about now," Skinner said.  

"Well, I figure we could just floor it," said Jimmy.

"Sounds good to me," said Scully.

Jimmy shifted gears and put the pedal to the floor.  The truck lurched
forward, gaining speed.  He turned on the brights, giving all of them a clear
view of the gruesome visage.

They began to scatter like geriatric cockroaches in a bathtub once the light
is switched on.  Then, detecting a meal they started moving, arms
outstretched, right for the oncoming truck.

"Here we go!" Jimmy cried out, as the zombies loomed closer and larger.
Skinner braced one arm against the roof of the truck, and the other he
extended across Scully like a parent shielding a child from impact.  She
latched onto his muscled arm and forced herself to keep her eyes wide open.

Water balloons -- that's what Scully thought they sounded like when the truck
hit them.  A dozen water balloons splattering on impact.  Body parts and
pieces were flying everywhere, splashing the windshield with a sickening array
of fluids and colors.  

They kept coming, wave after wave, with no thought to their own demise, even
after seeing their zombie comrades being flattened and shredded.  They kept
coming.

The fence was right in front of them.  "Hold on! cried Jimmy as he pressed the
accelerator harder.  The truck lurched forward, faster.  They hit the fence,
the impact jarring them.  And then they heard what sounded like gunfire.
Instantly Jimmy began fighting the wheel.

"We got a flat!" he yelled, struggling to keep the truck under control.  The
surviving tires screamed as he pumped the breaks.  Gales of dust surrounded
them like smoke, obscuring the view, and the smell of burning rubber invaded
the truck cab.

Skinner reached out as if he could wrest the steering wheel from Jimmy and
save them, but the truck lurched all of them forward.  He slammed into the
dashboard, further aggravating his ribs.

Before them a one-story brick building appeared.  The truck was still going,
out of control.  Jimmy threw his arms up to protect his face.  As did Scully.
Skinner threw his massive body over Scully's, pinning her down.  

The truck smashed through brick wall like an explosion, and finally stopped.


*    *    *


Mulder awoke with the taste of blood in his mouth.  He had bitten the inside
of his mouth hard, and it was still swollen, raw and sore.  He blinked, trying
to focus, but his vision remained blurred.  He tried to sit up, but found that
he was strapped down.  Strapped to a table.  An operating table.  Instantly
Mulder's memory returned.  

He stared at the intravenous needle taped to his arm, and the tube filled with
his rich red blood chugging through it and into a slowly filling plastic blood
bag.

He looked to the side, and saw Hendricks, unconscious and strapped to an
identical table, also begin drained of blood.  Mulder was about shout out to
the man, until he heard a noise and turned his head to the operating theatre's
entrance.

Brian Hazelip appeared over him, smiling.  His eyes looked dry and devoid of
life.  His skin was like thin grey paper curling up and crumbling into dust.

"Be calm.  My intention is not to harm you, Mr. Mulder.  But it appears I need
rather massive amounts of your blood for. . .my research.  So I'm taking it
from both you and Corporal Hendricks at safe intervals.  Have some now, save
some for later."

"What kind of research?"

"Oh, I don't want to bore you."

"I'm willing to listen if you're willing to talk."

"In a few hours, I'll release you.  You can stay or go, I don't care.

"What about Hendricks?"

"He'll be fine."

Brian stared at Mulder, not at his face, but at a thick bluish vein bulging
along the side of Mulder's neck, near the jugular.  Brian reached out with a
decaying finger and pressed it, watching as the blood receded, then quickly
refilled the vein.

"Stop it," Mulder said, voice weakening, realizing what Brian's fascination
was all about and trying to pull away.  

"Don't worry, I'm not like THEM," Brian said.  It took all he had in him to
turn away from Mulder, not to give in to instinct, desire, hunger.

"Look, I want to help you.  But I can't do much strapped down like this.  My
hands are numb.  Can you loosen them a bit?"

Brian said nothing, but stepped away to examine the bag filling with the
soldier's blood.  He squeezed it, sniffed it, practically hugged it to his
face.  "It's so warm," Brian said.

Mulder began working his wrists, hoping to be able to slip out Houdini style,
but the straps were too tight.  Not a chance.

"Brian, how responsible are you for what those people up there have become?"

Brian's reverie was broken.  He moved to Mulder and tied off the tubing,
removed the bag, closed it and placed it in a small icebox.  "Responsible
enough.  I was coerced into joining the project.  I gave up a promising future
to protect the people I loved.  I thought I could at least help turn their
failure into a success.  We came close.  Real close.  And then --"

A red light above the door to the operating theater began to blink, and an
alarm, like a klaxon, began wailing through the entire facility.

"AGAIN?" Brian yelled.

"What is it?" Mulder asked, his body beginning to shudder at the thought of
zombies finding their way down.

"Someone or someTHING, has breached the perimeter again."  Brian moved to the
TV monitor.

Mulder could not see the screen from his vantage point.  He could only see
Brian's face take on a sour countenance, and then one of concern.  "What?"
Mulder demanded.

"I think your friends have found their way here."

Scully!  Mulder felt relief surge through him.  "Is there a woman, petite,
redhead. . .?"

"Doesn't matter.  They can't use the elevator if they don't know the code.
The upper level is run afoul with reanimated dead.  They haven't got a
prayer!"

"Then we take the elevator up and help them!"

"Forget it, it's too dangerous.  We stay right here.  You go up there, you get
infected, and I don't have enough uninfected blood to use to find a cure for
me!"

"LET ME UP YOU SONNOVA --"

"NO!"

"Look, I'll do whatever you want, I'll. . .wait!  She's a doctor, a medical
doctor!  Forensics is her specialty.  She can help you!"

Brian turned to Mulder with a look of interest.  "Research background?"

"Yes!"

"You're lying!"

"No!  She's my partner.  We're FBI agents!"

"You said she was a doctor!"

"She is!  She can help you find a cure."

"If you're lying. . ."  Brian went to a cabinet and pulled out the AK47 Mulder
was using earlier.  He then went to Mulder and removed the restraints, needles
and tape.  Mulder got up too quickly -- blood loss, plus his earlier injuries,
threatened to knock him out.

"This way," Brian said, holding the weapon on Mulder, and directing him out of
the operating theater.  Mulder preceded him on rubbery legs.  "What am I
supposed to use on those things, insult humor?"

Brian reached behind his back and pulled out Mulder's Sig and tossed it to
him.  "Don't even think about using it on me, or your friends stay right where
they are."

Brian keyed in the code, which Mulder watched and memoriezed.  The elevator
car opened.  Brian and Mulder stepped in and automatically the doors closed
and started to ascend.  It seemed to take forever for Mulder, who began pacing
despite his aching ankle. 

Brian positioned himself in front of the door.  "Get behind me, " he ordered
Mulder.

Mulder did, but stayed just left of Brian to make sure he could get a clear
view of what waited above.  He wanted more than anything to have the double
panel door open and find Scully standing there.

She was.  But a snapping zombie was wrestling her to the floor.

Mulder fired before Brian could, blowing off the back of the zombie's head.
It fell atop Scully, completely covering her from view.

"SCULLY!"  he screamed, grabbing the corpse and pulling it away in one swift
motion, paying no heed to the pain it caused his shoulder.  "SCULLY!"

Her eyes were wide open but she seemed to be in shock. She saw Mulder but it
didn't appear to register.  She raised her gun and aimed.

"NO!"

She popped off a round.  Mulder ducked, then realized it was not him she was
aiming at; she had just shot a zombie coming at Mulder from his blind side.
He turned in time to see it crumple to the ground.  He reached down and pulled
Scully to her feet, fighting not to give in to the pain in his shoulder.  

He helped her inside the elevator car, leaning her against the wall by the
control panel.  "Where's Skinner?"

"He was here.  He was just here.  I don't. . . MULDER BEHIND YOU!"

Mulder turned to find two zombies heading for the elevator.  He fired,
blasting both of them to bits.  He turned back to Scully.   "Don't let the
doors close," he begged her, voice wavering from the pain, "unless they try to
get in.  If I'm not back in thirty seconds, take it all the way down and find
Hendricks."

"No.  I won't leave you here."

"If I'm not back in thirty seconds, they got me, and if they got me, I won't
BE ME anymore."

Mulder quickly pulled Scully into his arms for a tight, curt hug, then ran
off.  Scully pressed the hold button and kept her weapon steady in the other
hand, ready to shoot.

Mulder stepped around the huge truck and saw what was heading their way -- yet
another wave of reanimated dead.  The ground before him, all around the truck
and the partially destroyed building was littered with bodies and slick with
blood.  Mulder prayed he would not find Skinner among the dead.  

He started to head back to the elevator, but noticed the flap on the military
truck move just a hair.  Was it the wind?  He readied his Sig and reached out
for the flap.

Gunfire.  Something like a hot poker nailed Mulder's left arm.  He hit the
floor, dazed.

"HOLD YOUR FIRE!" Mulder heard someone shout.  A familiar voice.  

Skinner, holding his aching ribs, came from around the truck.  He knelt down
to check him over.  "Mulder, talk to me!"

Mulder said nothing, but winced when Skinner touched his arm.

The flap to the truck opened and Jimmy jumped out.  "I'm sorry!" he said.  "I
thought --"

"Just help me get him on his feet!" Skinner snapped, then in a soft, soothing
voice, he said to Mulder, "You're okay, Mulder.  It just tore a chunk of meat
out of your arm.  We're gonna lift you up, okay?"

Mulder moaned, reaching over and clamping a hand around the wound.  Warm blood
filled his hand quickly, and the pain made him nauseous.  

"Here we go," Skinner warned, preparing himself as much as Mulder.  He and
Jimmy lifted Mulder to his feet.  Just as they began to drag him towards the
elevator, a zombie lunged at him.  Skinner went for his gun.  The zombie,
right up on Skinner, reached for him, but quickly backed away, as if Skinner
were somehow not as appetizing a treat as the others.  The thing practically
fell over itself getting out of Skinner's way.  Skinner didn't care.  He
popped off a shot at it anyway, now becoming desensitized to the sight of
exploding brain matter.

"Brian," Mulder whispered.

"Who?"  asked Skinner.

"Brian."

Skinner turned around and found what looked to be another zombie, though not
quite as decomposed and deteriorating as the others, standing there with an
assault rifle in his hand.  

Jimmy quickly let go of Mulder and raised his weapon.

"NO!" Mulder yelled, falling hard against Skinner.  Skinner's ribs were
screaming.

"Everybody into the elevator!" Brian ordered, heading for it himself.  Jimmy
stood frozen for a moment, until he heard the moaning of the next wave of
zombies getting closer.  He grabbed Mulder's other arm and raced to the still
opened elevators.

"Scully," Mulder, mumbled, starting to go in and out of consciousness.
"Scully. . . "

*    *    *

Scully stood frozen, still waiting. She knew it had been more than thirty
seconds, but she heard Mulder call and she was not going to leave him.  And
then IT came to the door.  It had a gun, and it said something to her, but she
barely heard it.  She pulled the trigger.

Click.  The clip was empty.  Her legs turned to jelly, and refused to support
her.  She fought to remain standing and turned the gun around, ready to smash
the thing that stood before her.

And then Mulder, Skinner and Jimmy appeared.  Her eyes widened.  Were they all
zombies now?  They all raced into the elevator car, but Scully still kept her
finger on the open button.

Brian reached out and move her hand away from it.  She recoiled, backing
against the wall.  The door panels slid closed and the elevator began its
descent.

There was a long moment of silence as each of them regarded the other with
suspicion.  All were panting, filthy, bloodied.

"Well," Mulder said weakly, "I see everyone got the memo."  He realized what
he said sense to no one but himself.  His head dropped, and he passed out.


*    *    *


McGann stood beside his jeep, binoculars to his eyes, watching the activity in
the distance.  For a moment, he thought the matter at hand would take care of
itself.  He watched as the truck with survivors crashed into the building atop
the underground facility.  But then he felt the sting of disappointment when
he saw the passengers emerge.  Moments later he witnessed the attack, positive
that they would not survive, only to find that there were other survivors as
well, and that they had made their way to the underground facility.  

"Your orders are as follows," he was told in his last communiqué with his
superiors before the attack.  "Zero witnesses, zero survivors," they said.  No
one was to know or live to tell what they had seen.  That included his men, as
well as the three FBI Agents.  Not that anyone would believe them.  But once
his superiors got wind that Fox Mulder was among them  -- had seen the results
of the Type 52 Project, McGann was given orders to execute all of them with
extreme prejudice.

He brought the binoculars down from his eyes, which were an odd bluish white,
practically glowing in the darkness.

*   *    *


"Are you really a doctor?"  Brian asked as he handed Scully a large, well
stocked first aid kit a thermal blanket.

"Yes," she said, unable to take her eyes off of him.

"You can stop staring.  I'm not going to bite you."  Brian laughed.  When
Scully didn't, he immediately became straight-faced and serious again.

Scully looked down at Mulder's bloodied shirt.  She took scissors and clipped
the sleeve away and got a good look at the wound.  Luckily the bullet hadn't
penetrated, nor had it broken or shattered bone. The bullet had only torn a
deep score into Mulder's arm.  Painful, but not life threatening.  All she
could do was clean it up, patch it up, and keep him clear of infection. 

"You're Brian Hazelip, aren't you?"

"Yes.  Do I know you?"

"No.  But I know your work.  What happened?"

"That's a loaded question."

"Considering what we just lived through, I think it deserves an answer."

"You're right.  What do you want to know first?"

Scully paused for a moment, considering the ridiculous, unscientific nature of
the question she was about to pose.  Considering, however, what they had all
just seen. . . 

"Are you dead?"

"I was."

"How did you die?"

"Sniper," he said, pointing to the bandage on his head.

"I thought a bullet to the head was the only thing that could kill 
you. . .them."

"The brain must be totally obliterated.  Besides, I'm not like them."

"Then what are you?"

"Agent Scully?"

Scully and Brian both turned to find Skinner leaning against the door frame.
"Everything okay here?"  The man was pale, ready to pass out.  He held on to
his ribs, almost fighting to breathe.

Scully moved to his side to help him. 

"I'm okay," he assured her.  "How's Mulder?"

"The gunshot wound was superficial, however, I'm worried about his pressure.
He couldn't have lost enough blood to warrant such a low blood volume."

Brian turned away, not wanting them to see the tiny smile tugging at his
peeling lips.

"We'll just have to keep him warm and still," Scully continued, "as much as
you can keep Mulder still, and he should be all right.  We have to get him to
a hospital eventually."  She held on to Skinner as he hopped up on an
examining table.  "You need a hospital too, sir.  How are you doing?" 

"Hurts like hell, but I live."  He straightened up, as if to demonstrate, and
felt a wave of pain, causing him to shudder. 

Scully touched his forehead.  He also had a slight fever.  "You need to rest
sir.  I'll see if there's something in the first aid kit strong enough to dull
the pain."

"Thank you, Scully."  He looked at Brian.  "I don't know what your game is,
Brian, but --"

"I'm in control.  I promise you.  I'm not like them."

"Fine.  You still keep your distance.  Agent Scully, make sure there's always
someone else in the room when he's around, just to be on the safe side."  To
Brian, he added, "No offense."

"None taken."

"I have news about your father.  It's not good."

"What about him?"

"He's dead."

"What?  How?"

"Automobile accident."

Brian looked away, as if to cry, but his dead eyes would produce no tears.
"It wasn't really an accident, was it?"

"I don't believe it was.  He was on his way here at the time, to find out what
happened to you.  I guess the rumors of your death weren't exactly premature
after all."

"No, they weren't," Brian said, "I woke up on a slab in a freezer with a toe
tag on and a slug in my frontal lobe.  My heartbeat is practically non-
existent.  If you were to check my vitals right now you would probably be
tempted to pronounce me legally dead."

Scully took that as a challenge and pulled a stethoscope from the first aid
kit.  She put it on and approached Brian to listen.  All was silent as she
searched for an audible sign of life.  Barely readable.  Not satisfied, she
reached for his arm and pulled his sleeve away from his wrist.  She noticed
how cold and dry his skin felt, like parchment.  She could not find a pulse.  

"This isn't possible," she said, finally, stepping away.  "How can this be
possible?"

"Type 52.  Actually, THEY," he said, gesturing above, "are the product of the
Type 52 virus.  Nasty little bug, isn't it?  My condition stems from a much
earlier version.  I injected the virus into myself when I suspected my life
was in danger, hoping to save it.  It worked.  Although, considering the
results, I'm beginning to think my father got the better end of this deal."

"What exactly are we dealing with here?" Scully asked, going back to Mulder
and gently wrapping a bandage around his arm, watching her partner closely for
signs of his coming to.  "What exactly is the Type 52 virus?"

"A gram-negative, secretion vectored, highly virulent viral strain that, upon
somatic death and general necrosis, reactivates its host."

"How much time between somatic death and cellular morphology?"

"Approximately 10 minutes."

"Etiology?"

"Idiopathic."

"How do we stop this?"

"Phagocytes, in theory."

"In theory?"

"The cells are captured and become carriers --"

"Time out!" yelled Skinner.  Would it kill either of you to dumb down your
terminology a bit so I can keep up?"

"Sorry, sir," offered Scully.  She finished tying Mulder's bandage, then ran
her hand over her partner's forehead, pulling back the hair that was damp and
clinging from perspiration.  His skin was cool.  She shivered at the thought
of Mulder dying.  And coming back.  She covered him with the blanket, gently
tucking it around him.

"So," Scully continued, "what went wrong?"

"Nothing!  What did you think, this was an accident?  This is exactly what the
Defense Department intended.  Type 52 was designed for one thing and one thing
alone -- to destroy the enemy by making them destroy themselves.  Why drop a
bomb when you can covertly release a virus.  There's no fallout or any of the
other ills associated with radiation, and all the buildings and valuables are
still intact.  The PROBLEM IS, you send a couple thousand troops in to divide
the spoils, and you've got another bloodbath on your hands!"

"Nobody wins," Scully muttered.

"How do we kill them?" asked Skinner.

"The only effective way of ending their life cycle is to completely destroy
the brain.  You can burn them, too, but if the brain continues to function, it
doesn't matter what condition they're in, they have to feed.  You can shoot
them, electrocute them, drown them, starve them, chop them in half.  They'll
keep coming back.  That's what this virus was designed to do.  Keep them
alive, and keep them hungry."

Mulder stirred, and moaned.

"Mulder?  Mulder, can you hear me?  Mulder. . ."

Mulder's eyes blinked, opened, and focussed on his partner.  He smiled.
"Scully.  What happened to me?"

"You got shot, Mulder.  Don't you ever duck?"

"Duck?  I believe in taking it like a man," he chuckled, just until it hurt.
Suddenly, memory kicked in.  His eyes revealed his fear.  "You okay?"

"Yes."

"Did they bite you?"

"No.  We're okay.  Skinner's okay, too."

"Skinner!  Where. . . ?"

Mulder sat up, dizzy, nauseous, but angry.  His eyes fixed on Skinner on the
other examining table.  He slid off, and threw himself forward, grabbing
Skinner by his shirt collar and yanking the man off the table.

"MULDER!" Scully yelled, and dived to pull Mulder away.  Her partner's
strength in no way matched his ambition, which was to beat his superior to a
pulp.  He did not protest as Scully threw her arms around him and pulled him
sideways off of Skinner.  All three lay panting, unable or unwilling to move. 

Brian watched, amused.

"YOU KNEW!" Mulder shouted, voice practically breaking, eyes never leaving
Skinner.  "You knew all the time and you let us walk right in and -- "

"I didn't know squat!" Skinner said through clenched teeth.  His eyes were wet
with tears, the pain in his ribs unbearable.  "I only suspected.  I wasn't
sure."

"Why didn't you tell us!"

"I didn't know it had gone this far!  I thought we could stop it!  Believe me,
Mulder, the last thing I wanted to do was put you and Scully in the middle of
this!"

Mulder pulled himself away from his partner's protective grasp.

"Easy!" she warned him.

Mulder sat up, holding his burning arm.  "I'm okay," he assured her. "How do
we get out of this?"

"I don't know.  Yet."  He looked at Brian Hazelip.  "You got any bright
ideas?"

"I did.  However, since my . . .reactivation, I seem to have lost some of my.
. . smarts.  I can rattle off a few facts and figures, but I can't analyze.
My ability to concentrate is shot.  All I think about is -- well, you don't
need to know the gory details.  I've been keeping a journal," he said, walking
to a broken file cabinet.  He pulled out the twisted metal drawer, which
screamed until he opened it far enough to reach in.  He pulled out a ream of
handwritten notes and dropped it on the floor before the three agents.  "This
is everything I can remember, everything I've been able to reconstruct.  All
the original data was destroyed.  The longer I live in this state, the more I
forget.  Perhaps, if you can stop fighting amongst yourselves long enough, you
can find something in those pages that can get us all out of this."

Brian turned and left the room.

Mulder pushed himself to his feet, followed by Scully.  Mulder then stuck a
hand out to help Skinner.  Skinner hesitated a second, then reached out,
taking Mulder's hand.


*    *     *


Jimmy hobbled into the bathroom and closed the door.  He was shaking all over,
freezing and aching, each spasm like an electrical shock.  At first he thought
it was nerves.  Until he found the bite mark on his right calf.

It was small, and hadn't bled much.  He thought nothing of it at first.  And
then it started to burn.  Now his calf was swollen and the wound was leaking a
horrible smelling fluid.  His head was aching and he had a high temperature.
So he kept away from the others, afraid of what they might think.  Afraid of
what they might do.

Jimmy looked at himself in the mirror.  His head snapped back in shock when he
saw his eyes.  A thin white film was beginning to cover them.  

He crawled into the cold, coffin like bathtub, drew the heavy shower curtain
closed, hugged himself and shivered.

"Don't let me die," he prayed.  "Please don't let me die. . ."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

End Chapter Four.