Title: Type 52
Author: Lacadiva 
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. Lacadiva @aol.com
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 appparent 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 communiqu� 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.  

======================================================================They'd spent two hours pouring over Brian's notes.  Brian sat across the room,
spinning incessantly in the swivel chair, until the noise it made threatened
to drive Mulder crazy.

"Knock it off!" he shouted.

One more squeak, and it stopped.  

"Thank you," Scully whispered under her breath to Mulder.  It was gyrating on
her very thin nerves, too.  She stopped reading to rub her reddened eyes,
wishing she had her glasses with her.  Mulder reached over and massaged a kink
out of her neck. 

"You okay?"  Mulder asked.

"Yeah.  I'm exhausted."

"Why don't you get some sleep?"

Scully thought about it for a moment, relishing the idea of unconscious
oblivion, but then she thought about the things -- zombies -- and shuddered.  

"Mulder, she said, her voice quivering just a bit, "I don't know if I can
close my eyes. I don't know if I want to.  Not while they're roaming around up
there."

Mulder pulled her forward until their foreheads met.  "Someone will come for
us.  The Morse code message is still broadcasting.  Someone's bound to respond
soon."

Scully put a hand around Mulder's neck, and nodded.

Skinner looked up and saw his agents.  No way was he about to cite FBI male-
female behavior protocol after what they'd been through.  He went back to the
notes, not really reading, but just staring at the page.  His own eyes were
burning with exhaustion.

The reverie was broken by the sound of someone entering the room.  All three
agents went for their weapons.  

Hendricks walked in, ready for hand-to-hand combat, but relaxed when he saw
Mulder.  He seemed a bit dizzy, and his deep mahogany complexion had an almost
grayish pallor to it.  "Well, well, the gang's all here.  Anyone get the
number of that truck hit me?"

"If you're feeling lightheaded, you should sit down," Mulder said. 

Hendricks didn't wait for a second invitation.  He plopped down a few feet
from the agents and rubbed his head.  "What happened?"

"You don't remember?"

"No, not from when we got off the elevator."  Fright shown in his eyes.  He
began checking limbs for bites.  He found a bandage strip on his left arm and
ripped it off.  He saw a tiny pinprick surrounded by red, purple and putrid
green bruising.  "What happened?  Did I get bit?"  He was ready to hear the
worse.

"No.  You might want to have a little talk with Brian Hazelip over there,"
Mulder said with a sly smile.

Hendricks looked in Brian's direction and stood, ready to fight or flee.  "Who
let one of those things in here?"  Hendricks leaped for Mulder's Sig, but
Mulder snatched it away quickly.

"Relax, Corporal," Mulder said.  "He's house broken."

Brian shook his head and turned away.

"Yeah?  Well, I still wouldn't turn my back on him."

"Neither would I," said Mulder. 

"Keep your distance," Hendricks warned Brian, "unless you want a hole in your
head, bucky."

"One is enough, thank you," Brian answered smartly.  He swiveled around, his
back to the agents and Hendricks.  He reached up to touch his head, and a
piece of skull and skin broke off into his hands..  He tried to hide it from
the others, tried to stick it back into place.  The piece plopped back out,
landing in his lap.  He grabbed the piece, stuck it in a pocket, and covered
the hole with a hand as he stood and quickly left the room.

"That thing gives me the creeps," Hendricks said with a shudder.

"Yeah, we're all a little creeped out, but we've got work to do.  He tossed
Hendricks Scully's stack of Brian's notes.  "We need you to go through these
for anything you think might help us get out of here."

To Scully, he said, "I need you to get some sleep."

"What about you, Mulder?  You're not looking so good.  How's your arm?"

"Sore, but --"

"Okay.  Up on the table, I want to check you out."

"I'm fine, Scully."  Mulder took her by her arm and pulled her to her feet.
She was too tired to protest, and felt like dead weight.

"Mulder, what are you doing!  Let me at least finish --"

"You're the doctor, our only real chance of understanding how to fight this
virus.  You need to sleep.  You need to be frosty."  

"Frosty, Mulder?"

"Yeah.  I'll sit with you if that will make you feel better."

"All right.  Only if you'll sleep some too."

"Deal."

Scully let Mulder usher her towards the door, but stopped suddenly.  "Mulder,
I haven't seen Jimmy for a while."

"Jimmy made it?" Hendricks asked, smiling.

"Yes," Skinner answered.  "He volunteer to see if he could scare us up some
food and water."

"He's been gone a long time," Scully said.

Mulder squeezed her hand.  "He's probably lost.  This is a big place.  Maybe
he found a kitchen and he's chicken-frying us a couple of steaks."

The thought of red raw meat made Scully's stomach turn.  She could see the
image didn't sit well with Mulder either.

Mulder turned to Skinner, "Sir, may I suggest --"

"I'm way ahead of you, Mulder," Skinner replied, tossing his own stack of
notes to Hendricks.

"What's up with this?" Hendricks demanded.  "I gotta read ALL of this?  You
must be kidding me."


*    *    *


McGann lurked near the elevator doors.  The wave of zombies had slowed down to
a trickle, occasionally a few.  But they recognized McGann a one of their own
and ignored him.  He could work easily now.  He stood at the numeric panel,
dialing numbers randomly.  He remembered that the coded sequence included four
sets of double digits, but the order had escaped him.  He seemed to think
slower.  He didn't let this bother him.  He kept dialing, waiting for the
green light to flash.  And then he'd do what he came to do.

Kill them all.


*    *    *


Mulder found a small lounge with a couch and a lockable door.  He walked
inside before Scully, and the automatic lights blinked on. He took a good look
around, then stepped out of the way to let his partner enter.

"No windows," Mulder said, "and only one way in or out."  He closed the door
and snapped the bolt lock in place, then pushed and pulled against the door a
few times to make sure the lock was secure.  Taking her hand, he lead Scully
over to the couch.

"It's chilly in here," she said, shivering.

"Yeah, I should have grabbed that blanket on the way out."

"Mulder, look, about Skinner. . .Let him off the hook. I agree, he should have
been more forthcoming about his suspicions, but he didn't create this
nightmare."

"I know, Scully.  I'll apologize to him in the morning.  What day is it,
anyway?"

Scully shook her head and let her partner guide her down onto the couch.  She
leaned sideways on it, letting her head lay against the soft, leathery
armrest.  Mulder sat down next to her and let his head loll against the back.
He took a deep breath, allowing his body to relax.  Just as he felt the
heaviness of sleep beginning to tug at him, he felt his partner shoot straight
up.

"What was that!" she asked, looking around the room.

"Nothing."  Mulder saw her shudder.  He reached for her, pulling her to rest
in the warm crook of his uninjured arm. 

"Mulder?"

He pulled away just a bit so that he could see Scully's face.  She looked away
from him, embarrassed as her eyes began to well up with tears.  She pulled
away only to turn around to face him, then slipped her arms around his back to
hold him close.  It hurt him, but it would have hurt him even more not to
comfort her.

"Those things. . .they can't get in here, can they?"

"As far as I know, unless they can dial a phone, we're safe."

"I'm not sure I can handle this one, Mulder.  Off all the things we've seen,
all that we've been through together. . .I don't know if I can."

"Scully. . ."

She pulled away and looked into Mulder's face.  Her cheeks were a little red,
her eyes were wet, her lips quivering.  "If they do get in, and there's no way
out . . ."

"I won't let them get you, Scully, I promise."

"No, Mulder, listen to me.  If they get in, and there's no way out, there's
only one true way to make sure we don't come back."

"Scully. . ."

"Mulder, please, listen to me --"

"Scully, what are you saying?"

"I think you know."

Mulder knew.  He couldn't say it.  Couldn't bare to think it.

"I can't do that."

"It's the only way, Mulder.  If for some reason I am unable to do it myself,
promise me, you'll take care of me.  Promise you'll. . . hel me die. . .
before they infect me."

Mulder's face took on a dark, unreadable expression.  He bit his lower lip
hard, as if trying to draw blood.  He could not bare the thought of putting a
bullet into her, even if it would spare her soul.  

"It's the only way," she said, cupping his face in her delicate hands.

His own eyes began to well up.  "If it comes to that, you can depend on me."

She sighed, as if this thought alone had completely and finally set her at
ease.  She leaned over, elevating herself just a bit and kissed her partner's
cheek, then settled in against him, snuggling inside his tentative embrace.

"I'll do the same for you," she promised Mulder, "if it comes to that."

"'Night, Scully," was all he could say. 

Sleep came quickly for Scully.  But not for Mulder.


*    *    *


Skinner awoke, practically leaping from examining table on which he had fallen
asleep.  His ribs felt terrible, but at least he seemed to be breathing a bit
better.  He sat up and bent his head down, rubbing a hand over the smooth top
of his head.  His dreams were filled with corpses and blood and mangled limbs.
He saw himself being devoured alive.  

Skinner slipped off the table and tried to walk off the weird feeling the
dream had given him.  The room was dark and quiet.  Hendricks had fallen
asleep in the chair, a stack of papers propped precariously on his lap.  It's
a wonder they all hadn't passed out earlier from exhaustion.

He wandered around the room a bit more, trying to shake off the odd feeling.
Part of it was a blatant distrust of Brian Hazelip.  True, he was a victim
here, but he was also one of the perpetrators, and it didn't sit well with
Skinner that Brian had lost his ability to think analytically.  Somebody had
to know what was going on and how to stop this madness.  It also meant baser
instincts were ruling him.  Eventually, Brian Hazelip would have to feed.

And then there were his agents.  Guilt hung from his neck like an albatross.
Mulder was right; he should have told them more.  Skinner should have trusted
that his agents would have still offered their services.  With more knowledge
they would have been better equipped to fight the zombie herds.  Or would it
have made a difference?  Now they stood to lose their lives in the ugliest,
most gruesome way imaginable, and they only had Skinner to thank.

Skinner felt cold.  Not temperature cold, but cold deep inside.  It was the
same cold feeling he'd had the day he was shot.  He remembered not being able
to keep warm, as if his body were already in shock, and despite the fact that
the tropical heat and humidity of 'Nam was downright unbearable.  Now, as
then, his hands were cold and tingly.

Skinner wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep.  But something wasn't
right.  Where was Brian?  And where was that other soldier, Jimmy?  He stood,
intending to search them out, but realized he was experiencing yet another
uncomfortable sensation.  Time to empty his bladder.  Skinner grabbed his Sig,
checked the clip, and left in search of a bathroom.


*    *    *


It wasn't the sound of water and porcelain that woke him.  It wasn't the
bright light.  It was the warmth of human flesh.  It radiated, like heat.  It
came through the walls, through the floor, through the ceiling.  It was all
around him.  Bodies, living, breathing, warm bodies.  They had a scent,
alluring, wild.  It was the smell of skin -- living tissue -- and the sound of
blood rushing through living veins like a klaxon.  That was what woke Jimmy
Beaulieu from the dead.  His stiff, decomposing hand reached for the shower
curtain.


*    *    *


McGann was growing impatient.  He had been at this for what seemed like hours.
He could not recall the sequence.  Enough patience.  If he had to break down
the doors and jump down the empty elevator shaft to get them, he would.
Nothing was going to stop him.

He picked up a heavy wooden chair on casters and began banging on the elevator
doors.


*    *    *


Skinner was bent over the sink now, vigorously washing his face.  He could
smell himself, the sweat and grime from the previous day.  His Mitchum had
given out hours ago.  He looked up into the mirror and his face and saw the
shower in the reflection.  It seemed like a good idea, to just go on and hop
in and save the others from having to know by smell when he was entering a
room.

And then he saw the shower curtain move.  

Skinner turned around, reached behind his back for his Sig and clamped his
beefy hands around it.  They were shaking.

"Freeze!" he yelled out of habit, but knowing already it wasn't going to do
him any good.

The curtain kept moving, slowly, as if something heavy was dragging it out of
the way.

Skinner fired three rounds.  The bullets blew melting black holes into the
curtain, and blackish blood splattered it from the other side.  Something -or
someone was hit.  Whatever it was stopped moving.

*My God,* Skinner thought.  *What if that were Mulder, or Scully?*

Skinner reached out slowly for the curtain, grabbed hold of it, took a deep
breath and yanked it back.

Jimmy leaped out of the tub, his hands going for Skinner's throat, his mouth
wide open, thick drool running down his chin.  


Through out the entire facility, the alarm began to sound.


*    *    *


Mulder awoke to the sound of the alarm.  Scully quickly sat up, wiping a thin
line of spittle from her lips.  "What is it," she said groggily, trying to
pull herself together.

"The alarm.  Someone's trying to get in!"

Both agents were up and through the door in seconds.


*     *     *


Jimmy backed away.  There was something about Skinner that scared him.
Something about his scent.  He could smell the scents of the others on him.
He wanted to feed so badly.  But Skinner was in the way.  Jimmy had to get
out.  He had to feed.  He hissed at Skinner and snapped his fetid jaws.

Skinner tried to put his gun to Jimmy's head.  Jimmy locked his slimy jaws on
Skinner's forearm and bit down, hard.  Blood spurted as Jimmy's bite deepened,
sinking deeper and deeper into flesh. Skinner screamed.  

He reared back and threw a punch with his gun-filled hand, sending Jimmy
backwards into the bathtub. Before he could pull himself out, Skinner fired
one shot blowing the top of Jimmy's head off.  Brain and bits of skull and
blackening blood splashed the tile in a violent pattern behind his head.
Jimmy twitched once, twice and died for the last time.

Skinner caught his breath, and looked at his bleeding arm.  

He felt cold again.


*    *    *


Mulder found Hendricks coming up the aisle right at him and Scully.  He had
both AK47s and passed one to Mulder.  Scully pulled her Sig from behind her
back and checked the clip.

"There's a monitor in one of the smaller labs," Mulder yelled over the alarm,
straining his voice.  "We can see who or what's trying to get in from there."
Before Mulder could lead the way, they heard gunfire.

The three took off down the aisle and ran toward the sound of the shot.


*    *    *

The three found Skinner in the bathroom.  He was hunched over, looking at the
bleeding wound on his arm.

All three turned to see the mess that Jimmy was in the tub and on the walls.

"Aw, Jimbo," Hendricks said, then realized the implications.  He turned his
gun on Skinner.  Skinner turned his gun on Hendricks.

"PUT THE GUN DOWN!" Mulder yelled, aiming at Hendricks.

"DO IT NOW!" yelled Scully, turning her own gun on Hendricks.

"Forget it!" said Hendricks.  "He's infected.  He's toast!"

Scully's eyebrow arched high and her stomach turned when she saw blood
dripping from Skinner's forearm and pooling on the bathroom floor.

"No!" shouted Scully.  "If he's infected, we have access to infected tissue to
study!"

"I'm NOT your lab rat!" Skinner snapped at Scully.  "Back off, all of you!"

"No!"  Hendricks was ready to fire.  "You shot Jimmy."

"Jimmy was one of them!  He attacked me.  He BIT me!"

"Everybody, just take it easy, we can work this out!"  Mulder peered back at
Jimmy in the bathtub.  He felt his stomach turn, but he swallowed hard and
breathed deeply to keep from heaving.  "All right, listen.  We can't go
turning on each other," he said, trying to sound calm and trustworthy.  "I
need you to look at me, Hendricks. Look at me."

Hendricks blinked, then looked at Mulder.

"We've got ourselves a real funky situation, but here's what I think." 

Hendricks looked back at Skinner, ready to pull the trigger.

"Hendricks, stay with me, man!"

Hendricks blinked again, and his eyes found Mulder once more.  "I'm
listening!"

"If Skinner is infected, we need to test him.  Am I right, Scully?"

"Yes," she said, ready to back up her partner.  "We need to see what's
happening to his physiology, in order to find out how to kill those things."

"You got Jimmy!  Cut him open if you want to see what's what," Hendricks
shouted.

"That's the plan," said Scully.  But we need live tissue as well."

"See, Hendricks?  I need you to stay frosty.  Isn't that what you told me?  I
think we all need to secure ourselves against what's trying to get in right
now.  So let's try to work this out like sane, civilized people.  What do you
say?"

"We can't have him walking around," screamed Hendricks.  "He could turn any
second."

"He has to die first," said Scully.  "If you shoot him, he WILL come back."

"Not if I shoot him in the head!"

"Take your best shot!" Skinner screamed.

"NO!" cried Mulder.  "If you shoot him, you kill our best chance of walking
out of here alive!  You kill us all."  Mulder put his gun down and raised his
hands.  "You might as well shoot me now," Mulder demanded.  

All were silent, eyes darting. 

Mulder could see Hendricks' inner struggle playing out on the soldier's face.
Hendricks relaxed his stance a bit, but refused to put down his weapon.  To
Scully, he asked, "What if he tries to take a nip out of your neck while
you're examining him?"

"So long as he's talking, and able to reason, he's safe, Scully told him,
hoping this was true.  "So long as he doesn't die.  We'll keep him in
isolation, just to be on the safe side.  Sir?"  Scully looked apologetically
at her boss.  "Will you cooperate?"

"Do I have a choice?" Skinner asked, then knelt down to place his gun on the
floor.  

"If you so much as look at me sideways," Hendricks glowered at Skinner as he
lowered his weapon, "I'll take you out."

Mulder stood protectively in front of Skinner while Scully went to him to give
his arm a cursory examination.  "Hendricks, I need you to go see what the
alarm is about.  Find Brian.  There's a security monitor in the laboratory
where you woke up.  If it's nothing, find a way to shut it off before it makes
us all crazy.  Will you do that?"

Hendricks, unwilling to take his eyes off of Skinner, nodded.  "I'm on it,
Mulder.  I'm on it."  He backed out of the bathroom, then ran off down the
hall.

Mulder and Scully both sighed heavily.  Scully touched her superior's cheek in
a way to calm him, to reassure him.  "We're going to get you cleaned up, sir,
and take a little blood, and let you rest."


*    *    *


Mulder found a larger laboratory on the south end of the facility.  They were
aghast at the condition of the room -- broken glass and furniture, and papers
everywhere. It looked as if a twister had been through the room a few times.

"Sorry I didn't have time to spruce the place up," said Brian as he entered,
stepping over debris, with Hendricks a few paces behind dragging in the body
bag containing Jimmy's remains.

"What was all the commotion?" Mulder asked.

"Some guy in an army uniform was trying to break down the elevator doors."

"Is he still there?"

"No.  He got tired a left."

"Did you seem him, Hendricks?"

"He was gone by the time I found the monitor.  But from zombie boy's
description, I think it was McGann."

"McGann?"  Skinner asked.  "Was he one of them?"

"You mean one of you?" Hendricks shot back.  

Skinner nearly went for Hendricks, but Mulder and Scully stood between them.

Brian turned on a flood light that illuminated a small observation room
protected by heavy Plexiglas.  He opened the door and stood aside.  Skinner
voluntarily walked in and sat on the single bare mattress cot in the middle of
the room.  Scully followed him in, with the first aid kit in hand and began
cleaning and bandaging Skinner's bite wound.  

Hendricks hefted up the body bag and slammed it on a gurney, went to unzip it,
then thought better of it. "My suggestion," he called out to Scully, "Keep a
muzzle on this thing when you're working on it.  It might still have enough
brain function to come back.  If anyone wants me, I'm on the monitor."  He
left again, his AK47 over his shoulder.

Scully finished bandaging Skinner's arm and said, "I'm going to take some
blood now, sir.  Would you roll up your other sleeve and make a fist?"

"Don't look at me like that," he snapped.

"Like what?"

"Like you're afraid I'm going to do something.  Why don't you slap a muzzle on
me, too?"

"Sir, I'm --"

"No, Agent Scully, I'm sorry.  Actually, I'm the one who's afraid I'm going to
do something."

"Just give me a little notice before you do, sir."  

She smiled at her boss, was warmed to see him make an effort to return the
smile, then slipped the needle into his vein and watched as blood quickly
filled the tube.

"It's going to be all right, Sir."

"I pray you're right, Scully."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

End Chapter 5

Type 52 (6/8)
by
Lacadiva 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Type 52 (6/8)


Scully completed the autopsy on Jimmy, and was now comparing blood samples
under a powerful microscope.  She thought she smelled coffee as she stared
through the eyesight of the microscope.  She looked up to find Mulder walking
in with two mugs of steaming liquid in one hand, and a small plate in the
other.

"Breakfast is served," he announced.

"I will dance at your wedding for this, Mulder."  She reached out and took one
of the mugs and immediately began to sip the brew.

"Is that a proposal, Scully?"

"Whatever it takes to keep the coffee flowing.  What's on the plate?"

"Manna from heaven, in the form of Pop Tarts.  They might be a little stale."

"Knock yourself out.  I'm done with Jimmy.  His brain may well have been
destroyed, but whatever is in his blood is far from dead.  The diseased cells
are still active."

"What does that mean?"

"I'm not sure yet."

Mulder took a bite of his Pop Tart and grimaced.  He glanced over at the
observation room where Skinner slept on the cot.  "How is he?"

"Physically, not well.  The infection moves very rapidly.  You'd think the
bite wound was superficial upon cursory examination, but once the saliva from
the infected individual is introduced into the blood stream, cell morphology
is immediate.  Look here."  She stepped aside to allow Mulder to take a look
at the slide.

"What am I looking at?" he asked.

"Skinner's blood.  See these abnormal blood cells?  They're devouring the few
remaining normal cells at an alarming rate.  Before long, there won't be
anything left but the abnormal cells."

"Killing the host."

"Yes, and no.  It kills the host, but also reactivates it, essentially jump-
starting the brain and other organs, now under the control of the abnormal
cell.  And also, creating that voracious hunger for human flesh.  It's an act
of violence only from our perspective.  For them, it's an act of survival.
They attack and consume living flesh and blood in order to supply uninfected
blood for their cells to devour."  

"So much for being at the top of the food chain."

Scully removed the slide and put another under the scope.  "Without fresh
blood, this is what happens."

"The cells die?"

"No, actually, they seem to go into a sort of stasis.  This is Jimmy's blood,
removed from his body more than an hour after death.  These abnormal cells
appear dead, inactive, until . . ."  

She removed the slide, pricked the tip of her own index finger with a needle,
and dropped a tiny globule on the glass and covered it. She slipped it back
under the scope.  

Mulder's eyes widened as he watched the dormant cells return to life and
aggressively attack Scully's uninfected blood.

"This is incredible, Scully."

"Yes, it is.  And it's also frightening.  Skinner doesn't have much time left.
Not unless we find away kill this virus."

"Where's Brian, isn't he supposed to be helping you?"

"He wandered off an hour ago and I haven't seen him since."

"Look, no more pricking your finger.  I've got a couple of fresh bags of
uninfected blood in the other lab.  Although it may have a finger of two of
scotch still in it from a few nights ago."

"What?"

"Remind me to tell you about my first encounter with Brian Hazelip later.
Let's go get some blood and we can look under your coverslip some more."


*   *   *


Mulder found the lab, that first room where he had awaken to find Brian
pirating blood from him and Hendricks.  He wondered what may have happened if
Scully and Skinner had not shown up.  

Mulder moved to open the door, but heard a noise.  He pushed Scully behind
him, pulled his Sig from his waistband and stepped into the room.

The agents both gasped audibly at the sight of Brian Hazelip sitting on the
floor in front of a small open refrigerator, squeezing the contents of
Mulder's blood into his mouth like wine from an old fashioned wine skin.  He
looked up, choking and dribbling blood down his chin.  He looked at the agents
with an embarrassed smirk, then at the collection of crumpled plastic blood
bags beside him on the floor.

Mulder couldn't look at him, felt his stomach turning at the thought that this
man was drinking his blood.  Scully's expression was one of shock and disgust
as well.

Brian capped off the bag he was drinking from and slipped it back into the
refrigerator. "Afraid I couldn't help myself," he said, "but rest assured,
your donation was greatly appreciated."  He belched.

Mulder could have kicked the little monster across the room.

"Don't worry!" Brian said, standing up and wiping his blood stained mouth
vigorously with the front of his shirt.  "It's better this way.  This way, I
won't come after you."

"Stay back!" Scully warned, aiming her service weapon at Brian.

"Guys!  Come on, I'm not gonna hurt you!  I thought we were friends!"

Mulder aimed his Sig directly at Brian's head.  Brian halted and threw his
hands up in surrender. 

"I got it under control," Brian said, then struck out wildly, knocking
Scully's gun from her hand and grabbing her by the shoulder, yanking her
against him and holding her in a choke hold.

Mulder aimed for right between his eyes, and knew he could pop a hole in his
head, but would it kill him?  It may just buy him some time.  But in that
time, he might bite Scully.

"Don't even think about it or I'll nip her.  That's all it would take, you
know, just a little spit delivered subcu. . .subcu. . .under the skin, to the
blood, and she's a zombie."

"What do you want, Brian?" Mulder demanded.

"I don't know!  I want to bite her.  I want to bite you both.  I want to taste
your flesh.  I want to sooooo bad. . ."  Brian sounded as if he were going to
cry.

"NO!  You want more blood?  Take it.  Where's the needle?  Take what you want
out of me, just leave her --"

"You don't understand!  I fought SO HARD to stay human, I didn't want to be
like them!  But the instinct to feed is so strong.  It's like a siren's song.
. ."

He ran his lips along Scully neck.  Scully cringed, feeling her knees going
weak.

". . .constantly beckoning me to indulge.  I thought I could fight it.  I
tried.  I tried so hard.  Look at me!  LOOK AT ME!  WHO AM I?  I'LL TELL YOU!
I am Doctor Brian Hazelip, the youngest CDC research scientist in the history
of the organization!  Do you know how many medical research firms competed to
get me?  I'm not some random yahoo from Butt Scratch, Texas!  I'm a scientist!
An academician!  I have two masters and two PhDs and am familiar with more
science disciplines than you can imagine!  I am brilliant!  I am!  I was. . .
I don't remember anything anymore!  All I want to do is eat.  I can't, I can't
fight it anymore. . ."  He opened his mouth.

"NO!" Mulder screamed and fired. 

It occurred to him at that moment that his aim may have been off, that he
could very well have, in the throws of anger and fear for his partner's life,
missed the target altogether and shot Scully.  He didn't.  

A wide black hole appeared directly between Brian's eyes.  His head snapped
back, and he let Scully go.

Brian looked confused.  He reached up and touched the hole in his head.  Black
blood covered his fingers.  

He then stumbled, but stayed on his feet.  He turned around, his back to
Mulder, and with a trembling hand touched the back of his head.  He kept his
hand there for a moment, long enough for Mulder to realize what he was doing. 

Mulder aimed and fired, severing the brain from its stem, completely
obliterating it.  Brian slammed to the floor dead.

Scully moved on shaky legs to Mulder's side.  She wanted nothing more than to
throw her arms around him.  

Mulder had the same idea. He pulled Scully to him and squeezed hard.  "You
okay?" he whispered.  

Scully nodded against his chest, afraid her voice would reveal the truth.


*     *     *


Scully sat at the lab table, watching Skinner toss and turn while Mulder
napped.  She was still deeply shaken by the events of the past few hours.  She
still saw Jimmy's head, splattered against the bathroom wall.  She still felt
Brian's cold, dry breath against her neck.  She wanted to sleep, but she still
saw legions of zombies reaching for her every time she closed her eyes.  

Hendricks entered, his AK47 wrapped in his arms like a child.  "Awful quiet in
here," he said, taking a seat next to Scully.  "I get nervous when things get
too quiet."

"That's understandable, considering.  Has McGann come back?"

"No.  Not a peep.  Look, I came back here to tell Mulder, but I'll tell you,
too.  That truck up there, the one you came in.  Is it mobile?"

"It has a flat rear left tire."

"Other than that?"

"I think so.  Why?"

"I get the feeling our distress signal is being ignored.  I get the feeling
they'd rather we just waste away down here like rats in a sewer.  I'm going to
make a break for it.  I figure if there's not too much activity up there, I
can sneak up, disengage the back, and just take the cab."

"I don't know if there's enough gas in the tank."

"If it's enough to get us the heck away from here, it's enough.  You want to
give it a go?"

"I'll talk to Mulder about it.  And if Skinner is strong enough to travel --"

"No, not Skinner."

"What?"

"He's infected.  We can't take him.  It'll be the shortest ride you ever had."

"We can't leave him here."

"You can't cure him, either. So baldy stays behind."

"No."

"Look, there's only room in that cab for three.  That's you, me and Mulder.
Skinner stays.  That's the deal.  Take it or leave it.  One way or another,
I'm outta here."

Hendricks stood up heading for the door.  "This is a limited time offer, Agent
Scully."

"Wait!"  Scully stood.  "Do you really think they'd leave us here?"

"It's been over 24 hours.  You don't see Delta Force breaking down the doors
do you?  I'm pulling out of here in one hour.  Talk to Mulder.  See if he
doesn't agree with me."

Hendricks left.  Scully stared at her sleeping partner.  She ran a hand
through his hair.  She felt eyes on her.  She looked up.

Skinner was standing in front of the glass, leaning slightly against it,
watching her.

"Sir?"

Skinner said nothing.

"Say something."

He didn't.

Scully reached for her gun.  "Sir, I need you to say something.  Please."

Skinner took a deep breath.  "I'm all right, Agent Scully."  His baritone
voice was thinned through the Plexiglas.

Scully felt only a little better.  He didn't blink, never took his eyes off of
Scully.

"Mulder," she said, reaching for him to wake him.

"Let him sleep," Skinner said.  "I need to talk to you.  Have you had a chance
to take a look at my blood?"

"Yes, sir, I did.  Cellular morphology has begun."

"Then how do you explain the fact that, more than three hours later, I'm
standing here talking to you, instead of trying to break this door down and
attack you?"

"I don't know, sir.  Perhaps, your size, I mean, you're a sizeable man.  I
mean, your physique, your --"

"If I were infected, Scully, I could break right through this Plexiglas and
you'd be my dinner.  Those zombies are impervious to pain stimuli.  I am not.
They have but one objective.  Scully, I'm not one of them."

Scully heard the words, wanted to believe it, but couldn't deny the evidence.
She wanted to put her gun down, but held on to it.

"Mulder," she called out again.  He merely moaned and stirred, but kept on
sleeping.  She quickly and silently prayed she would not have to be the one to
put the bullet through her boss's head.

"Agent Scully, I had a fever.  It's gone."  He ripped the bandage off of his
arm.  The wound looked normal for a fresh wound -- red, puffy, but none of the
putrid suppuration she had found around Jimmy's wound.

"What do you want me to do, sir?"

"Let me out of here, for one thing."

"I can't."

"Then take another blood sample from me to test. You're going to find that
whatever was destroying my blood cells is now being destroyed."

"By what?"

"I don't know, that's your job to determine.  I wondered why, when we were up
above, those creatures tended to ignore me.  Go out of their way not to make
contact.  And Jimmy, even when he came after me, he was just trying to get
out, and I was in the way.  There's something in my blood that repels them,
Scully.  And I think it's whatever they gave me back in Nam.  It lay dormant
in my body for decades.  Now, when it's needed, it's fighting back, like a
vaccination.  I know it's hard to believe, Scully, in light of what we've been
through, but the simple truth is, I'm not dead yet.  Jimmy was dead within two
hours.

"If you don't trust me, give me the needle and the tube.  I will draw my own
blood and give it to you."

"No.  I still have to open the door, sir."

Skinner walked to the rear of the observation area, placed his hands on his
head and turned his back to Scully.

"I could rush you, Scully," he said.

Scully felt a chill shudder through her body.

"But you could also blow my head off.  I've seen you shoot.  I know how easily
you could drop me."  Skinner stood patiently waiting for Scully to move or
not.

She found a sterile needle and tube, and creeping to the door, she quickly
unlatched it, opened it, threw the needle and tube in, then quickly closed the
door.

Skinner turned around and looked at what Scully had tossed in.  He smiled.  He
bent down, picked them up, holding on to his still sore ribs, then went to his
cot and sat.  He rolled up a sleeve looked back to Scully.  "You're going to
have to walk me through this."

Scully instructed him and watched carefully as the tube filled with Skinner's
rich red blood. Once done, he placed the filled tube by the door, then walked
back to his earlier position and put his hands back on his head.

Scully hesitated, then quickly opened the door.  She grabbed the tube and
raced out before Skinner could turn around.  

She went immediately to the microscope and placed a drop of Skinner's still
warm blood on a glass slide.  She peered through the scope, expecting to see
more of the same abnormal cells.  Her eyes widened and she audibly gasped.
There were no traces of abnormal cells in Skinner's blood.

"What is it?" Skinner asked, nervous that his theory was wrong.

"Mulder, wake up!"

Mulder snapped up.  "What is it?  What?"

Scully pointed to the microscope.  Mulder moved groggily towards it, and
peered through.  "What am I looking at?"

"What do you see?"

"Nothing.  Normal blood cells."

Scully went to the door and disengaged the latch.

"What are you doing?  Scully, STOP!" Mulder yelled, reaching across the table
for his gun.

Scully opened the door and stood in front of Skinner.  Skinner reached out for
her.

"No!" Mulder yelled.

Skinner wrapped his arms around his agent and pulled her close to him,
grimacing because of the ribs, but smiling with relief.

"You're okay, sir," she said with great relief.

"Did I miss something?" Mulder asked.


*    *    *


Hendricks thought about it long and hard.  He knew Scully and Mulder would not
leave their boss behind, regardless of his condition.  Deep down Hendricks
admired this.  He was a man of conscience and conviction, and his years in the
armed forces had taught him a lot about loyalty.  But this zombie thing, he
reasoned, totally changed the game.

He wouldn't wait for them to make a decision.  He was too anxious to get
moving while there was some daylight above.  He checked the monitor, and saw
no signs of zombies.  Satisfied, he grabbed his AK47 and headed for the
elevator.

He could hear their voices down the hall -- Scully's soft yet firm staccato,
Mulder's sleepy monotone, and felt for them.  He made up his mind that he
would come back for them.  He'd get out, find help, and come back himself if
he had to.  But someone had to venture up and see what they were yet up
against.

Hendricks programmed in the numeric code and heard the elevator engine kicking
and sputter to life.  The door opened, all shiny, metallic and cold.
Hendricks took one last look down the hall, silently wished Mulder and Scully
the best, and hopped on.

"I'll be back," he promised as the doors closed.


*    *    *

McGann had a crowbar, his intention to pry the doors to the elevator open.
But then he heard the sound -- the elevator was on the way up.  He could hear
the cables swishing about, and felt air rushing through the split in the door.
This was too good to be true.  He threw the crowbar down, put on his shades,
pulled his gun from his holster.  He looked up and saw the security camera.
McGann smiled, then fired one shot directly at the camera, destroying it.

He expected to hear the alarm go off, but there was nothing.  Just the sound
of the elevator getting closer and closer to the top.

This was going to be so easy.

*    *    *


"So there is a cure?"  Skinner asked, feeling optimistic for the first time
since the entire ordeal began.

"We know there is a cure for what they gave you," said Scully.  "We have to
assume that they have yet to come up with an anti-virus specifically for Type
52, or they would have used it by now."

"Not necessarily," her partner said.

"Why would they withhold the cure, Mulder?"

"Think about who we're dealing with here.  You heard Brian.  This was no
accident.  If Type 52 can wipe out three small towns in less than one week,
imagine what it would do unleashed on a large foreign country?  After the
first two thousand deaths the United Nations and the World Health Organization
could just swoop in and clamp down on all entry and exits visas, they'll send
over troops under the guise of keeping order and removing the dead, and you've
got a war nobody knows about covered in the international press as a horrible
disease started by a sick monkey.  A couple of British rock stars'll get
together for a telethon and the next thing you know some lab geek is accepting
the Nobel Prize in science for creating a cure that already existed.  This is
their Skinner box -- no pun intended, sir, and we are the rats."

"Mulder, you amaze me," Scully said with a sigh.  

"I still got a few gems left."

"So what do we do now?" asked Skinner.

"Well, sir," Scully said.  "I'm not sure if you're going to like my theory any
better than I like Mulder's, but here goes.  Your blood, as you said, has
something that repels the reanimated dead.  Somehow they know that whatever is
in your blood can counteract the abnormalities in theirs, thus destroying
them. It's as if your blood, from what I've seen, causes them to starve to
death.  I'm proposing that a transfusion of your blood, to Mulder, Hendricks
and me, might allow us to walk out of here.  I'm not certain it will work, and
I don't know what side effects to expect.  I do know, Sir, that you were given
large amounts of donated blood after your gunshot wound a few years ago, yet
enough of the antibodies survived in your system, to reactivate and fight off
Type 52.  It's hard to know without being able to completely research this,
but we're running out of time and, according to Corporal Hendricks, we should
not expect a rescue."

"How much blood will I have to give?"

"I'm not sure, but I want to wait another hour to see how your blood is
holding up.  If it looks good, we'll try me first to see what happens."

"No," said Mulder.  "I vote you try me first."

"Mulder --"

" My motives have less to do with chivalry and macho self-sacrifice than the
fact that you're the one who knows what you're doing medically."

"I can walk you through it, Mulder."

"Mulder's right," Skinner chimed in.  "He goes first."

"Sure, fine, whatever."

Mulder reached out and gave Scully's hand a squeeze.  "Remember our promise?"
Mulder said, just loud enough that only Scully could hear.  

She nodded and squeezed her partner's hand back.  "Yes.  I'll need to get a
tube of your blood now for comparison."

Mulder automatically began rolling up his sleeve.  "Hey, how do we see if it's
working?"  Mulder asked.  "Do I get to go up top and run around naked,
tempting zombies?"

"I hate to spoil your fun, Mulder, but that won't be necessary.  We'll just
take a look at how your blood reacts with Jimmy's samples.  Then we'll take it
from there."

Scully stepped away to gather the equipment she would need.  Skinner turned
his gaze away from Mulder, staring at the bite wound on his arm.

"Sir," Mulder began, not sure what to say.  "Sir, I have to 
apologize --"

"Forget it, Mulder.  We were all pretty fried."

"No, sir, I can't forget it.  I assaulted you.  I blamed you --"

"Agent Mulder, I never should have brought you and Scully into this.  I know
that now and I think I'll always regret it.  So if there's anyone who needs to
apologize, it's me."

Mulder nodded.  Both men sat in silence until Scully returned.

They all heard it and looked up as if the answer for what they heard would
come from heaven -- the sound of a motor vibrating through the room.

"The elevator!"  Mulder said and raced down the hall to the monitor.  Skinner
and Scully joined him. 

The monitor showed nothing but snow.  "The security camera is down," Mulder
said, striking the side of the monitor hard.

"Would he do that to us?" Scully asked out loud.

"What?"

"Hendricks.  He said he was leaving.  He wanted to take the truck but there
was only room for three, and they he wouldn't take Skinner.  Why would he
destroy the security camera?"

"Maybe he didn't," Mulder said.

Scully felt her blood run cold.

*    *    *


Hendricks readied himself for an onslaught.  He positioned the assault weapon,
balanced perfectly, prepared to fire at the first thing that moved.  

The doors hissed open.  Nothing moved, nothing stirred.  Hendricks wasn't
satisfied.  He would not be caught off guard.  He moved cautiously to step
over the threshold.  Before his foot could cross over, something jumped out in
front of him.

"Corporal!"

He almost pulled the trigger.  "Sir?"  He moved to salute, out of habit, out
of duty.

McGann smiled.  "At ease, Hendricks.  It's good to see you alive."  He whipped
off his shades, revealing his blue/white eyes.  "What's the rush?"

Hendricks brought up his weapon to fire too late.  McGann leaped into the
elevator and tore out the corporal's throat with his teeth.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

End Chapter Six

Type 52 (7/8)
by
Lacadiva 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Type 52 (7/8)


McGann heard them coming.  He looked up from Hendricks, whose gut he had
hollowed out, and saw them coming in his direction.  The elevator doors kept
trying to close, banging against Hendricks' legs, and automatically opening
again.  It occurred to McGann that he could pull the body in and finish his
meal during the ride down, then complete the job of killing the surviving
agents, or, he could allow the zombies to do the work for him.  

He stood up and moved back and allowed the car to fill with zombies, all
tumbling in in almost comic fashion to devour what was left of the still warm
soldier.  They fought for possession of the body, until the legs were dragged
away and the elevator doors closed and began it's decent.

He was amazed as all around him, the zombies, all in various stages of
decomposition, some relatively fresh, some just parts of dragging themselves
by mangled limbs, paid no heed to him.  They recognized him as one of them.
But he wasn't he assured himself.  Sure, he had a moment where he lost his
head -- he laughed at this -- and actually gave into the drive to feed, but
ultimately he knew he was better than 
these. . .*things* surrounding him.  He was a new creature, a new flesh.
And this was his time.


*    *    *


The three agents stood armed at the elevator doors.  They began checking their
weapons and backing up.

"South lab!" Mulder shouted, and all three turned and ran.  

Scully felt her knees weakening.  Her heart hammered against her chest.  She
prayed it was Hendricks, but feared it was the worse.  

Mulder easily remember the numeric sequence to get them back into the lab, but
his hands were shaking.

"Hurry, Mulder!" Scully urged him.

Mulder hit the wrong button, and had to start the sequence again.

"Mulder!" Skinner said, keeping aim down the hall.  All three heard the
elevator doors open.

"Come on!" Mulder screamed at the panel when the red light did not turn green
and the door refused to open.  He banged on it hard with a fist, tried the
door handle and found it still locked.  He cursed and began pressing keys
again.  This time the light flashed to green.  But not before Mulder heard and
recognized the sound of the undead heading their way.

Mulder practically pulled the latch off with his hands as he opened the door.
All three raced inside.

"Observation room!" Skinner directed.  All three ran into the Plexiglas room. 

"Mulder," cried Scully "the lab door!"

They looked up to see that the security door to the lab was not completely
shut.  Mulder headed for the Plexiglas door. 

Scully grabbed his arm and yanked him back.  "There's no time!"  She shouted.
Mulder closed the Plexiglas door, locking them in, at least from the inside.
They moved to the back of the observation room, backs against the wall,
weapons ready.

They could hear them, even through the Plexiglas, the zombies moaning and
shuffling. 

"How do you think they got down here?" Skinner asked.

"I don't know," said Mulder, his breathing slightly labored.

"What happened to the alarm?" Scully asked.

"Hendricks turned it off.  Guess he forgot to turn it back on."

The moaning and shuffling grew louder.  And then the door to the lab began to
open.  

One zombie entered the room, shuffling almost comically, until it turned and
saw the three agents in the observation room.  It hissed, as if calling all
his zombie cohorts to dinner.

Suddenly the room was filling with zombies, and all of them were groaning and
moving towards the observation room, arms outstretched.

Scully wanted to close her eyes, but she forced herself to keep them open, to
fight until they couldn't fight anymore.  To keep her promise to Mulder if it
came to making that decision.

"Mulder," she said, just needing to say his name.

"It's okay.  They can't -- "  He heard his voice crack.  He knew he didn't
believe what he was about to tell his partner.  "They can't get in here."

The zombies kept coming, until they all smashed into the Plexiglas.  They
still kept coming, not understanding or refusing to understand that the glass
was not breakable, or that it was even there.  They beat on the glass, slammed
their bodies against it, banged their heads and fists against it, determined
to get to the food.  

Mulder, Scully and Skinner watched, in horror, knowing there was no way out,
and the zombies were never going to leave, never going to give up, as long as
they were alive.  

"I'm open for ideas here!" Skinner snapped, wanting to pull the trigger but
realizing the bullet would either ricochet and hit them, or smash through,
allowing the zombies an eventual entry.  

Suddenly Skinner caught a glance at one of the horde.  This one was simply
standing and watching, not participating in the effort to break through the
glass.  He stood smiling, wearing sunshades.

"McGann!"

McGann Stepped forward, pushing zombies out of his way.  They fell, but
quickly rose up and resumed their efforts.

"Walter, still hanging on."

"Get us out of here!"

"I can't.  I have orders."

"You can't leave us here!"

"This is true."  McGann reached for the outer lock.  

"Don't!" Skinner shouted.

"You should have stayed out of this, Walter.  You should have minded your own
business.  The program you're so anxious to expose is what's responsible for
your being alive right now.  Where's your gratitude?"

"Am I supposed to feel grateful for what you did to them?" he said, meaning
the hungry horde.

"You wouldn't even have known about them."  McGann turned the lock.  

Mulder, Scully and Skinner backed up farther.

To Mulder, Skinner asked, "Is that AK47 fully loaded?"

Mulder nodded.

"I hope you're good with it!"

McGann opened the door, just an inch, then stepped out of the way.  The
zombies instantly lunged for the opened door and began pushing their way
through. 

The agents began firing, bodies and heads exploding all around them, splashing
them.  Mulder stepped in front of Scully and Skinner.  "GET DOWN!" he yelled,
and began to spray the converging horde, ripping them apart.  He kept firing,
his own eyes closed at one point, when he realized he could not take the sight
of exploding bodies anymore.  He kept firing until the clip finally emptied.
The room was filled with the smell of carbon.  Expired shells clinked on the
floor. 

Mulder opened his eyes to find the entire horde cut down, piles of bodies and
parts, flowing blood and fluids.  His hands shook around the weapon, and he
was still pulling the trigger.  His lower lip was quivering, and even though
he saw nothing move, he kept trying to shoot.

Scully moved to him and put her hands on his arms.  Mulder jumped, but would
not take his focus from the fallen horde.  

"Mulder, they're dead.  Let go."

Mulder jerked away from her and continued, trying to fire.

"Mulder, you got them.  Give me the weapon."  

Mulder stopped and looked at Scully.  He relaxed and allowed Scully to pull
the empty assault weapon away from him.  She tossed it to the floor and
wrapped her arms around her partner.  He hugged her tightly, allowing himself
to come back to her. 

Skinner moved to them, not sure how to, but wanting desperately to hug them
both.  He didn't.  "We have to find McGann," he whispered.  Mulder nodded and
pulled away from Scully. 

Skinner was the first one out, navigating his way through fallen bodies,
avoiding slick spots and limbs.  He saw a hand reach out for his ankle, and he
fired a shot, obliterating the hand, then continued until he made it to the
door.

"Scully?" he called.  "Follow my path."

Scully looked to Mulder, and at the sea of bodies she had to maneuver through.
She shook her head.  She didn't want to.

"Come on, Scully, you can do it," Skinner prompted.  Scully took one step,
then another.  Her eyes were wide, her eyebrow practically tickling her
hairline and she made her way to Skinner's outstretched hand.  She touched his
finger tips, and then she knew she had made it.  

Both looked to Mulder.  He took the first step around pile of bodies.  It
didn't seem so difficult watching it, but maneuvering through was difficult.
He watched for movement, his Sig now in his hands.

He stepped over and stopped at what appeared to be a child no more than eight
or nine.  She looked so much like Samantha.  Her hair was long and brown,
splayed out around her like a halo.  She wore a long flannel nighty that was
covered in blackish blood.  Her eyes were closed, as if she were sleeping
peacefully.  And her head, Mulder noticed, way too late, was still intact.

Her eyes popped open, and so did her bloody mouth.  She latched onto Mulder's
leg and bit down hard, through his pantsleg.  Mulder screamed and tried to
shake her off, but fell backwards into the pile of dead and semi-live,
squirming bodies.  He lost his gun, straining to reach for it even as he
kicked at his attacker, even as he felt the bodies under him fighting to take
hold of him.  The little girl dug her teeth in Mulder's leg deeper, trying to
rip out flesh and muscle

Skinner leaped into the fray, and aimed at the top of the girl's head.
Memories of Viet Nam overtook him for a moment, memories of a little boy who
wandering into his camp, wired to explode. . . .Skinner fired.

Mulder felt her teeth rip out of his skin.  Skinner pulled Mulder to his feet
and helped him the rest of the way through the sea of bodies.  He collapsed
once in Scully's reach, holding on to the sore and bleeding bite wound.

He rolled up his pants leg and let her see.  Blood was running from the deep
wound like a river.

"No, no," Scully whispered.  

Mulder looked her in the eyes.  Scully looked away.

"Let's go!" cried Skinner.  "We can worry about that later."

Both agents rose and followed Skinner down the hall, heading towards the
elevator.  Just as they reached it, McGann stepped from around the corner with
an assault weapon aimed at the agents.

"Aren't you dead yet?" he asked and laughed, and started firing.  

The Agents ducked back around the corner.  

McGann's weapon was exhausted quickly.  He threw it down angrily and reached
for his handgun.

Skinner came around the corner and aimed his Sig at McGann's head.  "Freeze!"

Mulder and Scully followed, both covering McGann.

McGann laughed.  "You think that can kill me?  You think Type 52 is all there
is?  Guess again, amigo.  I'm on my fourth reanimation.  And I'm not done yet.
Walter, old friend, give up.  There's a whole black ops contingent on its way
to raze this place.  They're not gonna let you walk out of here with what you
know.  I can make it quick and painless for you and your friends."

"Like back there?"

"Sorry, I was trying my hand at being creative.  I'm done now.  And, come to
think of it, I'm a little hungry."

"Eat this," said Skinner with a scowl and shot McGann in the head.  

McGann back up a pace, then began to laugh.  "You're gonna have to do better
than that, old friend."

All three agents raised their weapons and fired.  McGann backed up as each
bullet slammed into his head.  McGann fell. 

The three approached McGann's body cautiously.  Skinner kicked him, ready to
fire again.

"Is he dead?"  Scully asked.

"I'm not waiting around to find out," said Skinner.  "Let's get out of here."

The three agents stepped over McGann and into the elevator.  None of them were
prepared for the mess that was inside -- what remained of Hendricks.  Mulder
was the first to recognize the remains, and turned away sick.

Scully tried to avoid looking at the remains, as did Skinner.  Mulder however,
stared at it, as if memorizing the sight, never wanting to forget either the
man he was, or what had become of him.

The elevator doors shut, and the car began its ascent.  Skinner quickly
reloaded his weapon with his last clip.  Scully's weapon was done.  Mulder's
had only two rounds left.

"What now?" Mulder asked.

"I have an idea," said Skinner.


*    *    *


The elevator door opened.  Skinner was the first out, gun ready, using his own
body as a shield in front of his two agents.

"Stay here, keep the door open if you can," said Skinner.  He wandered off to
check the area.

Mulder leaned against the wall and slid down, still holding on to the button,
the pain in his leg growing by the second.  

"Scully," he said weakly.  

She squatted down to join him.

"I don't want to come back."

Scully held her breath.  She didn't want to think about it.  She didn't want
to keep her promise.  "I can't, Mulder."

"You have to."

Mulder handed Scully his gun.  "I don't want to come back," he repeated.  "Not
like them.  You can save me."

She was about to cry.  "Mulder, don't."

"You can save me."  He placed the gun in her hand, pulled the gun up to the
center of his chest and closed his eyes.

"NO!" she said, forcing the gun away from her partner.  "I refuse to believe
this is the only way!  There is a cure for this!  And I will find it.  We will
find it!"

"Scully, there isn't time.  I've got a few hours, and then --"

Skinner was back at the door.  "We've got to make a break for it now, or we're
done for."

Scully rose, pulling Mulder up with her.  They stepped off the elevator, on
the other side of the abandoned truck, and saw zombies scattered around the
area, walking aimlessly, tripping over the dead bodies left from the earlier
battle.

"Stay behind me," Skinner said.  "If one of those things are getting close,
make sure I'm between you and it."  He handed Scully his gun.  "You've got the
duty Scully.  You can't afford to waste a shot, so make them count."

"Sir," Mulder said, his voice low and weak as if he was ready to pass out,
"the jeep Hendricks and I came in, it should still be by the entrance gate."

"We saw it on the way in.  That might be our ticket out.  One thing before we
go.  I just want to say --"

Skinner stopped, unsure of how to proceed.  These were words he didn't get to
say very often.  "I just want to say that of everyone I've ever worked with,
ever known, you two have my complete and utter respect."

Mulder nodded.  Scully looked away, but spoke.  "You too, sir."

"All right, let's move, agents."

They headed in the direction of the gate.  A zombie ran on stiff legs,
reaching out at Mulder.  Skinner stepped in front of it.  The zombie stopped
as if disappointed.  As it moved to reach around Skinner, Scully had the time
she needed to set up her shot and take it.  BLAM!  The zombie fell.

Another approached from Mulder's side.  Skinner moved in front.  Mulder fired.
Down to one round.  Two more zombies approached.  Mulder fired, Scully fired.
Both zombies fell.  Mulder threw his gun down in frustration.  

His leg was burning as if on fire.  He stumbled and fell to his knees.  

"Mulder!"

"I can't, Scully.  I feel sick."

"Skinner!  Mulder's down!  I need help!"

"Keep moving!" Skinner demanded.

Scully did what she could to help Mulder up.  Once she looked up she noticed
that Skinner was standing stunned, unmoving.  When they saw what their AD saw,
they too were stunned.

About a hundred zombies were heading their way, like a herd of cattle being
lead to pasture.  Or to a slaughterhouse.  Mulder's legs gave out again, and
he fell to the ground, convulsing.  Scully knelt beside him, holding him.
This was it.  She took the gun, stroked hair from Mulder's wet forehead, then
placed a kiss on it.  She put the gun to his temple.  He seemed to know.  He
stopped convulsing and opened his eyes.  He nodded.

"Do it," he whispered.

Scully felt the ground vibrating under her.  It wasn't from the zombies.  She
looked up and saw huge trucks heading their way.  Canisters like grenades were
being pitched from the trucks, exploding greenish, smoke-like gas that quickly
began filling the air, reducing visibility.  Soldiers in full biohazard suits
carrying tanks on their backs and nozzles much like fire extinguishers shot
out more of the green gas, like exterminators after monster sized bugs.

The zombies were dropping like flies, kicking, trying to get up, tripping over
one another.  

Skinner huddled next to Scully where Mulder lay.  "Keep low!" he warned them.
But that didn't do them any good.  The gas began burning their eyes, burning
their chests.  They coughed, trying to find air.  Scully was the first to pass
out, falling atop Mulder.  Mulder went second.  Skinner, looking up one last
time to see helicopters descending on the place, and more black ops troops
arriving, was the last to go.


*    *    *


Mulder woke up, his head hurting worse than he could ever remember, his throat
afire, his chest feeling as if an elephant had used him for step aerobic.  He
was lying on the ground, covered by a silvery thermal blanket.  /Where did
this come from?/ he wondered.  Something covered his mouth.  It was an oxygen
mask.  Two men appeared over him, both wearing biohazard suits and hoods.  

"On three," he heard one of them say.

He cringed, remembering Hendricks' dirty trick.  Hendricks.  Mulder looked up,
wanting to find the corporal, but remembered he was dead.

"Three."  Mulder felt himself being lift and placed on a gurney.  He tried to
speak, but he was too groggy to construct a sentence. He could not be heard
through the mask, either.  "Scully," was all he was able to say.  He looked to
the side and saw what looked like garbage trucks.  Men in black suits that
made them look like enormous bipedal bugs were picking up zombie bodies and
parts and tossing them onto the garbage trucks.  A bulldozer was demolishing
what was left of the fa�ade that housed the elevator to the military facility
below.  Mulder could smell burning flesh and saw several large piles of body
parts still writhing, burning in a diabolical bonfire.  Mulder tried to rise
up, he wanted to run.

"Easy, buddy," he heard one of the men say.  They seemed to be moving in slow
motion.  "We're going to get you some help."

Mulder let his eyes close.

"We're getting them to the mobile medical facility now, sir."  Mulder heard.
Then he heard another voice, and smelled something familiar.  Even though the
mask he know someone nearby was smoking.

"Good.  I don't want anything to happen to them, especially this one, and the
woman."

"Yes sir."

"The next time someone tries to go over my head --"

Mulder didn't hear the rest of it.


*   *    *


Mulder woke up to find sun in his eyes, pouring in from a window.  He tried to
move, but his body was stiff and sore.  He did not recognize the room, but
knew it was not a regular hospital.  He looked to the side, and found Scully,
clad in a hospital gown and robe, sitting in a chair next to the bed.  Her
head was down, resting on her hand as she dozed.

"Scully."  His voice was scratchy, is throat dry.

She didn't move.  Despite the stiffness and the IVs connected to him, Mulder
stretched out his arm, reaching for her hand resting under her chin.  His
fingers touched hers.  

Scully jumped, her face a mask of horror, gasping.  

"Scully?"

"Oh, Mulder.  God.  I had a nightmare."

"That's understandable."

"You're awake," she said, relieved to see her partner smile again.  She took
his hand into hers and pulled close to the bed. "How are you feeling?"

"I don't know.  Tired.  Sore.  Am I okay?"

"Yes.  They treated you for the virus.  You've been out for days.  I was
getting worried, but they said it was to be expected.  Now that you're back,
you should be out of here in --"

"What do you mean 'back'?"

"I mean awake, Mulder.  You never died.  I never left your side."

Mulder smile.  "Thank you.  Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Mulder.  So is Skinner.  They say we can go back to work next week.
You'll be taking a little extra time off, however."

"What some people won't do for a vacation.  I'm confused."

"What about?"

"I was under the impression *they* wanted us dead."

"They did.  According to the CQ here, we apparent have a friend to thank for
our survival."  She pulled from her robe pocket an empty, crumpled Morleys
pack.  "I found this on your bed a couple of days ago."

"Why is it he keeps turning up like a bad penny?"

"I don't know, Mulder.  All I know is, if I saw the man, as much as I loathe
him, I think I'd have to thank him for this one."  Tears began to sting her
eyes.  She looked away.

"Hey. . ."

"That was a close one, Mulder.  I can't tell you how close I came to losing
it."

"You were the only thing that kept me going."

Scully smiled through her tears.  "I shudder to think how close I came to
putting a bullet --"

Mulder reached out so that his fingertips touched her lips.  She quieted,
closing her eyes to the memory.  "It's over now," Mulder said.  "Now comes the
worse part."

"What part is that?"

"Fighting through the lies and denials to tell the world what we saw."

"I'm game if your are."

Mulder smiled, and ran a finger down his partner's cheek.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
End Chapter 7

Type 52 (8/8)
by
Lacadiva 


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
". . .may those who plot my ruin be turned back in dismay."
Psalm 35:4
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Type 52 (8/8)


J. Edgar Hoover Building
9:29 AM


"Agents, would you step into my office, please?"

Mulder and Scully entered and sat before their superior.  Skinner was flipping
through the report both Mulder and Scully and spent days preparing, filling it
with as much information as they could compile from their experience with Type
52.  

Skinner closed the file and looked at them.  "I can't release this report."

Mulder closed his eyes and hissed air through his nostrils.  He was expecting
resistance, but not from Skinner, not after the ordeal they had all shared.

"Why not, sir?" Scully asked icily.

"Orders have come down from the highest levels.  It's a matter of national
security."

"National security?" Mulder spat.  

"Listen, Agent Mulder!"

"No!"

"Just listen to me.  Think about what would happen if the general public got
wind of what we saw.  We're not talking about a little healthy public outrage.
We're talking panic.  We're talking chaos.  We're talking a lot of people
dying over this.  I won't have that on my conscience."

Mulder leaped out of his seat.  "So you'd support a lie so you could sleep a
little better?  You kept that lie for over 25 years, Skinner, and look what
happened!"

"Sit down, Agent Mulder."

Mulder refused defiantly.

"I SAID SIT DOWN."

Mulder sat.  

Scully spoke, "Sir, I have to agree wholeheartedly with Agent Mulder.  This is
a travesty.  Worse than that.  You saw what they did to those people.  You
know what they've done to you!  What happens if they continue to experiment
with this virus?  How many more towns will be devastated?  How many more
lives?  I cannot sit back and be silent while these men conduct this
diabolical agenda while we keep silent for the sake of National Security!"

"I'm in total agreement with both of you.  I am outraged.  But I will follow
orders.  Until such time as I believe a more open policy is warranted.  I've
been instructed to destroy your report."

Skinner opened his desk drawer and dropped the report in.  He locked it back
and placed the key in his pocket.  Mulder's anger subsided just a bit.

"When you get back to your office," Skinner continued, "you'll no doubt find
your report is missing from your hard disk."

Mulder looked at Scully.  She had nothing to offer them. 

"I'm sorry," Skinner said.  "Think of it this way.  Every terrorist and every
so-called patriot with a bone to pick with the Government, every lunatic and
every foreign power will fight like dogs to get hold of Type 52 if word of it
ever got out.  And if any of them ever get their hands on it, the end of the
world scenario we prayed would never happened would come with the dawn.  I
don't know about you, Mulder, but I can't live with *that*."

Mulder looked away.  The truth, even this truth, needed to get out.  But
Skinner, he would not admit out loud, was right -- at what cost truth?

"Is that all sir?"  Scully asked.

"Yes."

Mulder stood and headed for the door, not waiting for his partner.

"Agent Mulder?"

Mulder stopped and turned back to Skinner.

"The truth will be told someday.  Just not today."


*    *    *


Mulder raced down the hall for the elevator. 

"Mulder, wait!" Scully demanded.

Mulder stopped short of entering the elevator, holding the door for his
partner.

"I should have known, Scully."

"We both should have known.  What are you going to do?"

"I don't know yet."

"Will you do me a favor?"

"What?"

"Would you go home early and get some rest?"

"Scully --"

"Please, Mulder.  You're not a hundred percent.  Go home.  Rest.  I'm leaving
early."

The doors opened and Scully stepped out, not waiting for Mulder.

He leaned against the cool metal for a moment, then followed his partner back
to their office.


*    *    *


Military Army Medical Facility
Dallas, Texas


He secured the hood of his borrowed biohazard suit, and entered the quarantine
area lead by one of the doctors on duty, also in full biohazard accouterment.
There were over a dozen beds, all empty but for one.  He walked to the bed and
with no thought for the condition of the man who was deep in the sleep of
recovery, he woke him.

McGann's eyes opened.  They were still bluish white, but fading, as if a more
natural color was slowly returning.  "You," he said with a raspy voice.

The CSM smiled through his hood.  "You disobeyed me."

"I don't take my orders from you."

"Which is why you've outlived your usefulness."  

The CSM stepped to the side and allowed the doctor to step forward. 

McGann, unable to move, could only tremble at the sight of the doctor holding
up a large syringe.  He looked pleadingly to the CSM. 
"No. .  .please!"

The doctor removed the plastic cap, revealing a shiny, sharp needle.  He
inserted the needle into one of McGann's IV lines.

The CSM stepped back to watch his old friend writhe.


*    *    *


Dana Scully's Apartment
3:11 am


Scully jumped up in bed, ready to fight.  This was the fifth night in a row
since she'd been home that she had awaken from a nightmare.  She still could
not get the faces of the walking dead out of her mind, out of her psyche.  She
knew, just like the night before, and the night before that, she was not going
to be getting back to sleep any time soon.  She knew that every bump she heard
would send her back to Harmony, Texas.

She could always call Mulder.

She considered it, and realized that she'd wakened him each and every night.
She couldn't keep doing that to him.  He need sleep as badly as she did.  She
crawled out of bed, wrapping her comforter around her shoulders, went into the
living room, and turned on the television.

QVC was showing cute porcelain dolls.  She switched to News Channel Eight.
What she saw made her jaw drop.  He *had* to call Mulder.


*     *    *


Fox Mulder's Apartment
3:21 am


Mulder lay sleeping on his couch.  The phone rang.  He knew it would be
Scully.  He got it on the first ring.

"Hi, Scully."

"Turn to News Channel Eight."

Mulder groped around the floor for his remote control.  He snagged it, and
quickly flipped to channel 8.

On the screen were exterminating trucks spraying trees, while the announcer
read copy about a nasty insect epidemic in Texas.  Mulder sat up and stared
when he noticed that the stuff they were spraying was a familiar gaseous
green.

"Oh my God, Scully."

"This isn't over yet, is it Mulder?"

Mulder wanted to tell her it was over.  He wanted to believe it himself.
"Scully. . . ."

Scully hung up.  The phone line went dead in Mulder's ear.

He put the phone down and sat up to watch the rest of the report.  The smiling
reporters came back, joking about the size of bugs that would warrant such an
effort to combat them.

". . .and they say that this is only the beginning in the war against nature
out of control.  We'll be *back* after this," the attractive female
anchorwoman said.

"Not if I'm lucky," said Mulder, and lay back down to sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

THE END
Whoa!  Thanks for staying with me all the way through.  If you liked it, email
me at Lacadiva @aol.com.  And to everyone who also read my other stories and
sent me such kind words of encouragement -- Thanks!