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Title: For Eternity Summary: An unexpected course of events sends two FBI-agents off their course and straight into a small Nevada ghost town, amongst the dead, only to realize that they are threatening to become the next victims of a destructive plague. Isolated and trapped, they know time is running out as they struggle to find a way to survive. Beta-reader and fabulous editor: X-Phylia My special thanks goes out to her for helping me out with all the medical stuff and practical stuff, and for allowing me to send her such long stories. (If you ever need any help on bacteria, viruses and illnesses, she's the one to talk to! J). Remarks: Oh yeah, and I do have a few minor references to CSI without this story being a crossover. CSI gave me the Nevada-desert isolation idea in the first place. Close your eyes so you don't hear them I'll sing this somber serenade You were there for summer dreaming For eternity Part One I It began with a cup of coffee in a diner off the ROUTE 23-8. That's where he realized that his fate was sealed. Seated in the far corner of the diner, where no one would really pay attention to him, he thought he would be quite alright. He felt the need for a cup of strong, life-filling coffee; one that would set him on the way for another few hours without resting. He had been traveling for two days now and was on the verge of a complete breakdown. He needed this short break after driving without barely a few hours of rest. And with the bag stuffed underneath the table, he was fairly sure he could keep his little secret. Stupid of him of course to take the risk! He had not even sat down for a mere ten minutes, enjoying his first refill, when a woman passed by him, tripped and fell over him, sending his coffee over his clothes and skin. "Ah!!" He shouted, anxiously pushing the woman off him. The coffee was so hot it seemed to burn straight through his skin. "Are you okay?" The woman asked, "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to -" "Leave me alone!" He screamed the words, crawling off the wooden bench, heading straight for the men's room. For one moment he had totally forgotten about the bag, thus sealing his fate. By the time he had wiped his clothes off and poured liters of cool water over his hands and arms, the memory of the bag returned. All the pain was forgotten. "No ..." he whispered, rushing out of the men's room. He had forgotten about the woman and the coffee and rushed back to his table. The waitress had put his breakfast on the table: a hot plate filled with crispy bacon, eggs and hash brows, delivered with toast, butter and marmalade. It smelled delicious, but he shoved the plate aside, kneeling down. He could not have been gone for more than five minutes. And as he returned, his bag was gone. "No," he whimpered, glaring around in pure panic, and then crawling underneath the table to find it. He had to find it! After all his effort, he could not lose it now. But he had. It was done. The bag was gone. He moved up and rubbed his dirty hands off on his pants, crossing from table to table towards the reception area, glaring in panic at all the visitors eating breakfast. There were truck drivers, families with young children and businessmen arguing over Saturday morning breakfast. No one had a bag like his. And the woman tripping over him was gone. "What's wrong, sir?" the waitress asked behind him. He jumped, turned and grasped her by the collar. She dropped the pot of coffee. The hot fluid splattered all over the tiles and onto her clothes and body. She screamed out in pain, as he had done a few minutes ago. "My bag," he hissed. "Where's my bag?" "What bag?" she cried out as she felt the heat of the burning fluids on her legs and hands. She struggled to free herself from the crazed man's grip, but he would not let go. "I left it - where I sat," he spat. "You took it. Didn't you? You took it! Give it back!" "Hey buddy." A firm-built man grabbed him by the collar and forced him to let go of the crying young waitress. She rushed to the restrooms to wash the hot coffee off her legs, aided by one of her colleagues. By now everyone was staring at him and he felt strangely exposed. For days he had tried to keep a low profile and now everyone would remember him. He knew he would lose against someone who was much taller than he was and seemingly calmed down, holding up his hands in defense. "I'm okay," he whispered. "Let go of me." The firm-built man slowly let go of his collar. "My bag," the smaller guy whispered hoarsely. "I need to find it." "I'll help you look, but calm down. Are you sure you took it with you?" "Yeah. Someone took it while I was in the men's room. A woman tripped over me. She must have taken it. She -" "What about outside? Have you checked there?" "No." The burlesque man walked out the door, holding it for the younger, strange-looking panicking man. Both looked at the cars on the parking lot but there was no sign of the woman. One vehicle left in a hurry as they walked outside though. A 4x4 rushed towards the highway passing them. In a glimpse the shorter man recognized the woman. "Hey!" the younger man shouted, waving his arms as he started to run. But he knew they would not come back. And suddenly he recognized the car. He knew whose car it was. And he realized in a split second he would never be safe again. He had wanted to take the vial to safety, away from those who wanted to abuse its power, only to have it taken back by the enemy. He had helped create this monster of craziness. He had regretted it and wanted to put a stop to it. As he turned, the tall man who had offered his help stood before him. The last thing the fearful Dr. Martin Phelps saw was the bullet taking away his face. II The vial was concealed in a small package, wrapped carefully so that it would not break. If that happened, all hell would break loose. In fact, the slightest wrong move might cause the package to crash and destroy everyone around it. The destruction would be painstakingly slow and take a day or two, maybe three. But eventually, it would happen. That's what his female driver told him before dropping him off at the bus station. She had taken most of the other vials with her, except for one. That one he would use for a little test. John Brandt knew the risks he was taking as he entered the bus going west. The assignment was to go to one of the small, almost abandoned towns planted somewhere in the middle of the desert that held a maximum population of thirty people. Even though these days they all had access to the outside world, it would still take some time before anyone finds out what had happened to them. The assignment was to cut the town from the outside world, and to deliberately infect all the people who lived there. Men, women and children: it did not matter. None would survive. He would die there too, he knew that. But it didn't matter. From a distance, the ones who cared about the vial would jot down their notes, make comparisons with previous tests and improve their product. A long time ago, his old man had told him that every war required sacrifices. He had never believed him, calling him a nutcase. But now his father had proven to be right about certain things in life. John had experienced that to the core in his life. His revenge would come in the ultimate weapon to destroy those who were against his country. Sacrifices needed to be made. He considered that as he boarded the bus an hour before it left. It would be a long journey to the center of the country, and into that area almost abandoned and forgotten. He had time. "Say a little prayer for me," he murmured, as the song with the same name played on through the bus speakers. III He slept and ate, slept and ate. He stretched out his legs on occasion as the driver made pit stops, or longer stops for breakfast, lunch or dinner; stepped back on the bus and slept again, ignoring his sore legs. He had not brought a single thing with him, except the package that rested almost constantly on his lap. His fingers rested on it, keeping it safe. The journey was a tiresome one, without a single distraction that would keep him from his goal. The bus was empty enough to give him plenty of space. He had no one sitting next to him whining about the weather or the slow bus driver or bad food eaten in diners along the road. There was no one to nag about the heat that crept up on them as they entered the Nevada desert. For two days, the bus was his home and he knew that with every mile, he approached to the end. He was almost looking forward to it, because the journey was becoming exhausting. If only he could make someone understand the fear that slowly started to build up in his heart. He loved life. He cherished it, despite his losses. But he was willing to give it away to support his cause. Around four in the afternoon the bus finally arrived in Vegas, dropping off about fifty percent of its passengers. They held a two-hour break there before continuing to Los Angeles. They switched drivers too. John Brandt ate a quick dinner, made a single phone call and was the first to jump back arrive at the bus, eager to continue its journey. New passengers stepped on the bus heading to Los Angeles. He sat on the same seat, in the back, ignoring them all. He did not want anyone to talk to him. A little girl sat in the chair across the isle, two seats before him. She turned now and then, hoping that he would smile back at her. But he did not move. Finally her mother urged her to give it a rest and she did not look back once since then. She reminded him of his daughter who had played in the crche until the walls came crashing down. As the bus continued its journey, driving slowly into the night, this time with a much faster driver behind the large steering wheel, John Brandt fell asleep too, clutching his precious package. Around midnight he woke up startled, blinking as the bus came to a sudden halt. This was it! He almost missed his exit as he rushed forward, jumping out of the bus before the doors closed again. He was the only passenger to leave the bus at Green Town, Nevada. The vehicle took off again, leaving him in the small town that counted ten thousand people. Green Town was not his final stop though. He was heading for Nome, about twenty miles further into the desert. Nome was nothing but a small dot on the map barely habitated. He had double checked that in Vegas. He woke up the manager of the car rental agency by knocking for nearly fifteen minutes on the man's door, ordered a vehicle and took off that same night, paying four hundred dollars more than he should have. There was no use waiting for dawn now, he felt as he continued his trip to the final stop. IV Special Agent Dana Scully found it extremely difficult to keep her eyes open during the long and boring drive that would bring them to Los Angeles, and towards their next case. The past four days they had spent in Green Town, Nevada, close to the Arizona border. They had practically been eating desert sand, since the town was small, dusty and very unpleasant to stay at. By now, the agent had her stomach full of it. She ached for a hot bath in a luxurious hotel, spoiling herself rotten for once instead of fighting off the bugs. "I want to be in a big city again," she had dryly commented after Mulder had suggested spending the weekend in Las Vegas instead of driving back to LA. "I'm fed up with this state." "Isn't Las Vegas big enough for you?" he had responded wittily, and she had groaned. "It's still in the desert, Mulder. If you leave Vegas, you're still stuck in sand. It's everywhere, you know. It's on the streets. I don't care for it. Just get me out of here, if you will." He had laughed and withdrawn his suggestion to play blackjack all night and earn a bit of money on the side. Or watch porn videos all night on the rather expensive movie channels. Then he had proposed to drive through the night, so that they would be in LA early in the morning and have a full day before starting their new case. They had earned it, after working throughout the weekend to wrap up paperwork. That had sounded quite attractive to Scully, even though she knew that - knowing Mulder - she would still spend the remainder of her Monday tracking down weirdoes. Not that she minded though. Anything was better than going after their strange Green Town-suspect. So they left late in the evening, packing up their bags and throwing them in the trunk of the rental car. Mulder had offered to drive. Insomniac as he was, he could do without a night's sleep and had no difficulty driving for most of the night. She, on the other hand, found it difficult to stay alert as they exited the Green Town borderlines. "Take a nap, Scully," her partner suggested as he followed Route 23-8 taking them to LA. He had decided to take an alternative highway that would allow them to drive relaxed to the West Coast. The Interstates were always busy, even at night. He turned down the radio a tad. She smiled. "Actually I should be keeping you alert." "By singing?" "Talking is good enough, thank you." "I'm fine, honestly. If you want me to take you to Universal Studios tomorrow, you'd better get some rest now." "Universal?" Her eyes darkened. "You must be joking. We're not tourists, you know." "I like Universal. The ET-ride is my favorite." "Should have figured that one out," she smiled and closed her eyes. "Goodnight, Mulder." "Don't let the desert bugs bite." Another groan came over Scully's lips as she partially turned her body towards the car door and somehow managed to find a good position to sleep in. Then she let her mind drift off, lulled to sleep by the constant soft roaring of the engine, and Mulder's humming as he listened to good late night music. Finally she sunk into a shallow sleep. Suddenly the car made a brusque stop. Scully moved forward, her body caught inside the seatbelt's confinement. Yet she stirred instinctively, hands raised forward. "What?" She shook her head, opened her eyes and stared at Mulder who had stopped the car. He looked pale and confused, but not in her direction. She turned her head to find a stranger leaning up against the vehicle, placing his hands against her car window. The stranger was young, blonde, and very, very pale. She could tell that, even in darkness. He had a strange, upset look on his face. And fear. She had never such fear. "Help me," he whispered hoarsely and then, as if he had used his last ounce of strength to say that, he let go of the car and slid onto the concrete. His body fell next to the vehicle on its stomach. He stayed down. "What?" Scully muttered still numb from sleep. "Mulder -" "I nearly ran over him," her partner told her as he opened the car door and exited. She followed through his side, as opening the car door was impossible due to the man's body. Scully rushed after her partner past the front of the car and stared for a second at the young man who lay unconscious or dead on the ground. The doctor in her immediately shot in action, worried for the stranger's safety. Mulder had a pocket flashlight in his hands, shining it on the stranger as he knelt by her side. Scully subconsciously noticed they were in the middle of nowhere, on a completely abandoned highway. They could have been alone in the universe, she thought wearily as she touched the man's throat gently. She held her breath; she could not find a pulse. She tried a second time, pushing her fingers against the stranger's throat, touching his body for a sign of life. "Help me to turn him around," she asked. Mulder helped her to move the body onto its back. The man's eyes were closed. Only then did she look up and found her partner's distraught face looking back at her. "He's dead, isn't he?" Mulder asked in a strange voice. She nodded. "Yes," she spoke hoarsely. "He is dead." V Never before had Fox Mulder felt this way. He was terrified, even though he would not admit that out loud yet. Here they were, stuck in the middle of the desert, with a man who had collapsed before their very eyes and died. He did it as if it could happen to anyone, and it freaked the agent out. "I can't find a pulse," Scully explained, opening up the deceased's eyelids one by one. His eyes were stark white, startling her. The pupils were turned up, showing the eyes' whites clearly. In the small flashlight, it became an even more haunting sight. "Move him into the car lights," Scully ordered. "I need to take a better look." Mulder grasped the dead man's arms and pulled him before their car, still standing on the highway's right lane. Gently placing the man down again, Scully knelt to unbutton his shirt. As she did that, she noticed spots on the stranger's hands, arms and throat. There was one behind his ear as well. They were small, round and dark, not unlike large moles. Mulder knelt by her side, touching the man's hand. It felt hot. Rigor mortis had not set in yet, and the man clearly had had a dash of fever. "He can't be much older than thirty," Mulder said. "How can a young man die just like that?" "I don't know." Scully opened the shirt and found the same spots on the man's chest as well. And his skin was as warm. "What happened, Mulder?" she asked, sighing deeply as she tiredly stretched her legs. She still felt dizzy from waking up too brusquely and had difficulty grasping what was happening. It felt like a dream to her and she could not shake the feeling she would be waking up at any time. "I don't know," her partner answered upset. "I was driving steadily and suddenly he came running out of the bushes towards the highway, going almost straight into the car lights. He acted weird, Scully, waving his hands wildly. I stopped the car and he ran towards us, thumping onto the glass with his hands. He seemed to lose strength as he did that. That's when you woke up." "Well, whatever happened to him is serious. He is as dead as a doornail. I've never seen anything like it: a young man dying like this, right in front of us. It's odd. I don't know what to make of it." "What are those spots on his body?" "I don't know. They look like moles, only darker and larger." "Could they be linked to a disease of some sort?" "I don't know, Mulder. It could be anything: a virus, or a parasite or a bacterial infection. I would have to do an autopsy to find out what killed him." Mulder stood up and looked around. In the darkness it was easy to believe there was no one else in the universe but them. And here they were, with a dead man in their hands and nothing but eerie silence around them. Strangely enough, it almost seemed as if the rest of the world were holding its breath with them. Mulder pointed out at some distant lights on the right of the car. "He must have come from there. There isn't any other car in sight. He came on foot and I didn't see another vehicle nearby." "Is that a town or something?" Scully asked, trying to see what the lights were about. "Looks like it. I saw a sign about half a mile back. It said Nome. Hang on." Mulder opened his car door and came back with a map. "It's the smallest dot on the map. But at least it's something. It can't be more than a mile or two away from the highway. Let's go." "Wait a minute," Scully objected. "We can't do that. We need to call the authorities and get them down here at once. We don't know what happened to this man, Mulder. For all we know he could have been murdered. We can't just load him into our car and get him over there." "Ten to one your cell phone does not even work out here," her partner responded dryly. "I checked a few minutes ago." Scully fished her cell out of her pocket and felt frustration rush through her. They were cut off from the outside world and she didn't like it." "Why do you always have to be right?" she groaned. "For once I just wished you were joking." "Towns like this, in the middle of the desert, usually have one convenience store, about ten houses and a whole lot of sand surrounding them. And let's not forget the patroller who has to cover three hundred square miles on his own. That basically means we are on our own, stuck with a body that we can't just leave lying around here," Mulder finished explaining. "The animals would have their way with it, Scully. In two to three days there might be nothing left. Do you really want to drive back to Green Town or Vegas with a corpse in the trunk, Scully, when there is help nearby? Those towns might be secluded but they usually have phones, you know." "Fine," she sighed. "What do you suggest then?" "I propose we bring John Doe to Nome, find whoever he belongs to and get on the phone to the authorities. They should be here early morning to take care of this. There's not much more we can do, is there? It's nearly two in the morning. I doubt anyone in Green Town will be jumping to help us in the middle of the night. And to be honest, I do want to find out what happened to this man. I think we owe him that much." "We don't owe him anything!" she exclaimed. "Yes, we do. We are agents, Scully. It's our job to find the truth. We should at least be able to return him to his family. He came from that direction, Scully, running like crazy. Whatever haunted him was closing in on him. He was terrified. I want to know what scared him." "I'm not so sure that I do," Scully replied quietly. Mulder looked at her questioningly. "Aren't you curious?" "You asked me that before," she replied, "a long time ago. We were on the job together for the second time chasing space ships and it got us into deep trouble." "But we always manage to pull through." "Don't you feel it then?" she asked shivering, wrapping her coat around her. "Feel what?" "This chill," she continued hesitantly. "Something did happen to this man, Mulder, but I'm not sure that trying to find that out in the middle of the desert is such a good idea. In fact, I would love to leave this one to the proper authorities." "You're sounding like me and for once I don't really care for that, Scully," her partner admitted. "Yes, I feel it too. But do we really have a choice?" There's always a choice, Scully thought as she slowly shook her head. Yet she realized all too well that they were FBI-agents. They had never turned their back on an investigation before. This one definitely categorized under that. Her natural born curiosity told her to go after this. Her natural fears warned her not to pursue it, to wait for daylight when the sun shone a completely different light on the world. Somehow, she believed, bright daylight would help them figure this one out. "You're right," she admitted, sealing the fact they would not be driving to LA after all. "But I want to be cautious here. I don't like this situation." "Agreed. We drive to Nome, find help and wait for someone to explain this to us." "What about the body?" "We'll take it." She shivered. Mulder was not looking forward to carrying a body in the trunk either, but he knew it was the swiftest way to bring the deceased back to his own people, and save the remains from the animals that would be lingering in the dark. So they moved their bags to the backseat and placed the dead man gently in the trunk. Mulder closed up quickly after placing a blanket over the stranger's body. It was the first time in his life he had a body in his car. "I hope we're not dealing with zombies here," Scully quipped as she stepped into the car. "I don't feel like being strangled by a corpse in the trunk." "Hmm, that would make an interesting case," her partner answered. "Then again, we've already experienced that, haven't we?" Scully managed to smile as she strapped her seatbelt and tried to relax. "Hey, it'll work out," Mulder reassured her, grasping her shoulder gently. "Okay?" She nodded and smiled. There was such an eerie feeling to this place. She never understood how anyone could live so isolated. How could these people be in touch with the world? Did they live so secluded because they enjoyed the eternal silence of the desert? Suddenly she noticed a strange glow in the sky too, at a far distance. She held her breath, staring at it in shock. Mulder laughed as he started the car. "They're not UFO's, Scully. It's the former Nevada nuclear testing site. It glows in the dark thanks to years of tests." "Oh." Mulder took the lead, leaving the highway towards the small, almost unnoticeable exit that lead to the small town of Nome. It was situated in the middle of the desert, amongst snakes and smaller animals no one really cared about. He too felt a shiver run down his spine as he headed towards the town, hoping that it would be much larger than ten houses and one convenience store. And that it did not hold dangers that would make the current situation even worse. VI Scully glared at her watch the minute they entered the town of Nome. Two-fifteen in the morning and the lights inside all the houses were lit, giving the scenery a strange coloring. Not even a city like Vegas was this vivid during nighttime. All curtains were open, all rooms of every single house bright. For a town with so few inhabitants, this meant immediate danger. The town consisted of nothing more than one street with six houses standing on both sides of the street, and a couple more of houses in the back. Those did not even have concrete roads leading to them. One small convenience store that was nothing more than a shack with six or seven racks behind a very small counter stood to the side. There was also a garage and a very small library, part of an abandoned old town hall. The store was open and empty. The shelves were shattered; the groceries scattered over the ground. Boxes with medication were empty. There were three cars parked on the street. Two of them were dusty pickups. The third one seemed a relatively new car with hardly any dust on it. It looked a bit like their rental car and stood out of place. There were a few other cars parked here and there too, and a few wrecks were left parked in front of the garage. No one came outside to greet them as they approached the small center of Nome. In fact, the streets remained empty. "This is spooky, Mulder," Scully confessed as her partner parked the car next to the dirtiest pickup. He grinned nervously as he took the key out of the ignition. "That's my middle name." Scully exited the car first, trying not to think about the body of the man in the trunk. She did not like the fact that he was stuffed in there. She should have called someone, somehow. This was starting to feel like a very bad move from their part. Someone should have investigated the crime scene. Now she had tampered with evidence, moving a corpse that could have told many details. And if he had not been killed by a human being, but died of an unknown biological agent or natural causes, they still had to leave the scene as it were. But not without extreme danger. Mulder was right about one thing: they should figure out what happened, if only to find out how a young man could die like that. It was their job to do so, their task as federal agents to solve answer questions. Their duty. But what if that man had died from some horrible disease? What if they had brought something with them in their car - something that had killed him so unexpectedly? What if they were next? And now she wished they would just turn around and get out of this strange little town. With every step she took, she knew they could be heading towards more danger and trouble. She hated herself for feeling this squeamish. Mulder did not seem to feel that way. If he was nervous, he had it under control. He walked towards the nearest house and rang the bell. They saw light downstairs as well as upstairs. But no one would open. Mulder stepped in front of the window and glared inside. He saw an abandoned living area: a modernly decorated dining and living room. He rang once again and knocked on the glass. Nothing moved within the house. Scully took the next house and did the same: ringing, knocking and ringing again. Mulder walked over to the third house and repeated the process. "This is a ghost town, Scully," he spoke out loud as he tried to glare inside of this house too. "There's no one here. It's all empty." "It's scary," she replied. Her partner moved to the side of the house and glared inside, having a better view of the whole living area. And then he held his breath. "Scully!" Alarmed by his cry, she rushed towards him, to find what he had seen. He moved aside and she noticed how pale he looked. "What is it?" she asked, placing her hand on his arm. He pointed. On the floor of the living room inside the third house, lay two bodies with a third corpse placed on a couch. It did not take an expert to see they were dead; as dead as the man in the trunk of their rental car. VII Mulder knelt down by the deceased woman lying on her living room floor, and put his hand before his mouth, forcing back the nausea that came with the sweet, uncanny scent of death. They had been dead for almost a day and as rigor mortis had set in, the sweet, unforgettable sense of decay had begun. He still could not get used to that. He had seen many autopsies, every time forcing back the urge to lose the content of his stomach. He was shocked at the sight of three corpses lying close together. They seemed to be family. There was a man, a woman and a teenage girl who looked around sixteen. She must have been their daughter, as she was her father's splitting image. They were all dressed in night clothing. The man lay on his stomach and had fallen face flat on the floor, eyes open. His hand still held his wife's, who also lay on the carpet. She lay face up, eyes staring into nothingness. The daughter was laying on the sofa with a blanket over her, her face turned towards the coffee table. Her eyes were closed. On the table rested a glass of water and a nearly empty bottle of Tylenol. The shocking part however was that the man had killed the woman with a kitchen knife. He had slashed through skin and bone, entering her heart with full force. He had stabbed her once, instantly killing her. And then he had slashed his own wrists. The bodies were bathed in blood, unlike the girl's. She had died in her sleep. "My guess is that the girl died first," Scully spoke softly. "She might have been sick for a while longer, and they would have cared for her, feeling sicker by the minute too." "But he killed his wife." "Perhaps he wanted to save her the pain. After the girl died, he probably panicked. He killed her and himself." "How long ago?" "About a day. I'm fairly certain they were sick too: look at the dark spots on their skin." Mulder knelt forward to touch the man's body as he repressed the nausea building up in his stomach. His eyes, stark white, stared back at Mulder. The agent couldn't bear the sight of it and wanted to close his eyes. "Don't!" Scully stopped him, grasping his arm. "Don't touch him." "Why not?" "He was sick, Mulder. We need to get out of this room as quickly as possible, and away from this place. All these people were sick. And we might be too. It might already be too late." "Sick?" Mulder asked horrified. "They all have those spots the man in our car had. They are probably symptoms of an illness." "An infection of some sort? A contamination? A plague? A virus?" "Let's call it a biological agent for now. This is a small town. These people live secluded. They would have infected each other just by being here, or by touching each other." She looked up in sheer fear, disturbing Mulder's sense of forced calmness. "No doubt the rest of people of this town are already dead too," Scully continued softly. "And we touched that man that died near our car, Mulder. His skin touched ours." The agents stared into each other's eyes, aware of the graveness of the situation. "What is this thing, Scully?" She shook her head. "I don't know. I don't dare to think about that right now. We need to notify the authorities right now. We need to get the CDC here and isolate the place. We will need to go into quarantine and they will need to figure this one out. This is beyond me, Mulder." Mulder stared at the dead family and instinctively moved backwards. "This is serious," Scully whispered, grasping her purse. She sighed frustrated. "My cell phone is still dead." "Their phones should be okay," Mulder said hopefully, reaching for the one sitting on the table next to the television set. He picked it up, only to find a dead line. He didn't even get a dial tone. "Damn it." "What is it?" "I get nothing: the lines are dead." Fear grasped them. Scully followed her partner outside as they entered the adjoined house and broke down the door. They found no bodies downstairs. Scully ran upstairs to find a couple in their bed. In death, they had lain side by side. They had been gone for more than a day too. And Mulder found another dead phone line downstairs. "This is strange," Mulder spoke, and his partner could hear the fright in his voice now. "It smells like sabotage. Scully, I think these people were deliberately kept here to die. They could have been subjected to some sort of testing." "Mulder, not everything is a government conspiracy. Why would anyone do -" A loud crash coming from outside the house stopped Scully in her words. Mulder was the first to hurry outside, to find a man pounding hard into their car engine with a hammer. He was tall and seemed strong, yet ill. "Hey!" Mulder yelled, raising his gun towards the man who would not stop. The agent ran as fast as he could while the hammer crashed into the engine block underneath the open hood. Mulder fired in the air, startling the stranger for a second before he continued to pound into the car's engine. His neck and arms were covered with the dark spots. "Stop it!" Mulder shouted, this time aiming at the man's leg. When he wouldn't respond, Mulder fired once, bringing the individual down with a cry as he released the hammer. Within a second their suspect lay panting on the ground, hands clutching his shot leg. Drops of sweat poured down his face. His eyes were feverish; his reactions odd and seemingly slow. All fighting spirit had gone out of him as he lay on the dusty ground. Mulder moved forward, holding the gun. "Keep your hands where I can see them. We are FBI. Who are you?" The man would not respond. His eyes darted away from the agents towards the hammer that he spotted within an inch from him. "Find something to tie him up," Mulder ordered Scully, "and get our gloves." Scully rushed back into the first house and returned with rope taken from the garage. Cautiously Mulder continued to hold his gun pointing at the suspect. The agents knew they needed this man for questioning. He was the only survivor they had found so far. The only one who could tell them the truth. Mulder handed his partner the gun and put on latex gloves. Any contact with the stranger might be dangerous. Scully went to stand next to him, in clear view of the suspect, ready to hurt their suspect once again. "Don't touch him, Mulder," she begged of her partner. "Be careful." He nodded. "Hands forward." The stranger would not obey. Mulder kicked him gently with the tip of his shoe, trying to get a reaction from him. Finally the man did as he was told. Mulder knelt down and lifted the rope over the person's wrists, holding him at arm's length. The suspect winced as Mulder tightened the rope, pulling it carefully as he stayed out of physical contact. The stranger did not put up a fight. But a swift kick with the man's healthy leg aimed directly at Mulder's stomach suddenly sent the agent out of balance and into Scully who lost the gun as she hit the ground hard. Mulder rolled over her, onto the ground and flat on his back, wincing at the sharp pain that shot through his belly. Scully took a deep breath as she gathered her wits long enough to grasp the gun. A splitting headache rushed through her, sending her swaying off her feet. She shook her head slightly, focusing on the two struggling men before her. She would have to shoot the stranger. By the time she was conscious enough to focus, their guy had already thrown himself on top of Mulder, pulling the rope over the agent's throat. Mulder grasped the rope and tried to pull it away from his neck. It cut into his skin, surging pain through him as all air was being sucked out of him. One tight pull of the rope could snap his neck. Mulder felt the man's hand touch his neck and face and then grasp his hair, using it as a grip to bring the agent's head in hard contact with the ground. Mulder released his hold on the rope as he felt his consciousness float in and out of darkness. The agent almost felt the man's adrenaline level going through the roof; it seemed as if nothing would stop the stranger who moved on sheer will power. As his attacker continued to pull the rope tight over the agent's throat, the second gunshot of that night threw the suspect off his chosen victim and sent him into oblivion. Mulder did not stay awake long enough to know that his partner had struck their guy in the shoulder. VIII "Mulder, come on. I know you can hear me. Open your eyes for me." The male agent groaned in his uncomfortable position on the ground and tried to gather his wits long enough to stay awake for more than a few seconds. It seemed like an eternity but finally he managed to open his eyes and order his mind to become alert again. He was still lying on the same small dusty street with Scully hovering over him. She had removed the gloves. With his face turned to the right, the first thing Mulder saw was their guy lying tied up. He seemed harmless and vulnerable this way. The agent also noticed Scully had used two thick bandages to stop the bleeding of the suspect's leg and upper arm. She had not done anything though to make him feel comfortable or to remove the bullets from his body. He still lay on the ground, looking deadly ill. Instead, Scully had been trying to get Mulder to respond for some time. As he remained unconscious on the ground, she had removed the rope off his throat and neck - she later used that to tie up the stranger - praying that her partner's airways had not been cut off for too long. Then she had checked out the bump on the back on Mulder's head. He would live, she concluded, but with a headache as bad as hers. "Take it easy," Scully advised friendly as her partner moved, forcing his body to roll to his side and carefully up, until he was sitting up, feeling very dizzy and nauseated. Rope burn made his throat feel sore and aching. He had been there before and knew it would take some time to feel better. He had difficulty thinking straight. What had just happened? "He knocked you out well," Scully reminded him gently. "So I gathered," Mulder groaned, looking at the unconscious stranger. "Who the hell is that guy?" Mulder became suddenly aware of the fact they were still in the middle of a ghost town, with nothing but the dead surrounding them. He moved up, supported by his partner's arm. "I'm okay," he groaned, shaking his head. "We need to get you inside," Scully advised. "But preferably not in a house with dead bodies. And by the looks of it, that might be difficult to find here in Nome." Her words pulled Mulder immediately back into the graveness of their situation. They had no one to talk to but the dead, and a man who had tried to kill them. "Why did he destroy the engine?" Mulder spoke wearily as he finally managed to stand on two feet by his own strength without toppling over. "He obviously does not want us to leave Nome." "What about the other cars?" "Ten to one they are sabotaged too." Mulder staggered towards the trucks, despite Scully's protests that he should take it easy, and opened the first hood. It was easy for a non-mechanic to trace the damage done to it, as it would have been done to all the other cars in the small town of Nome. "I'm pretty sure all phones are dead too," Scully spoke desperately. "Damn it." Mulder grasped the side of a truck and sat down abruptly, trying to shake the shivering from his body. "You've got a slight concussion by the looks of it," Scully spoke, touching Mulder's face. He looked up at her confused; she didn't like the way he reacted. He was too out of it, and seemed to have difficulty finding the right words. "Are you nauseated?" "Yeah. I think I'm going to puke." Mulder had not even said it, as he turned to the side and heaved. Scully stood behind him, rubbing his back as he lost everything that was in his stomach. "Damn it." Mulder groaned, staggering away from the contents lying on the dusty floor. He shoved sand over it with his foot. Scully handed him a clean handkerchief. "Here. Let's get you inside." Mulder hated feeling this vulnerable and weak but he had no choice in the matter. He yearned for a resting place where he could close his eyes for a few moments and shake off the dreary sensation. He had had concussions before and recognized the symptoms all too well. It would be some time before he felt better. But at least, thanks to nighttime, there was no sunlight to hurt his eyes too badly. They had no choice but to find a house that did not have the scent of death. Finally they found one that stood in the back of the street. This one was completely empty. A few photos of a young, blonde, attractive male on the dresser told them why: he was the man in the highway. The body stuffed in the trunk. He had probably lived alone. Scully helped her partner into the living room and into a large, comfortable couch. Mulder leaned back tired and closed his eyes as soon as his head hit the cushions. "Don't sleep, Mulder. It's important you stay awake for a while." Her partner opened his eyes and groaned. "I was hoping you would forget about that." "Never. You can rest and take it easy but I won't allow you to sleep. Hear me?" "Yes, sir." She smiled and took off her partner's shoes while he looked at her. "How do you feel?" "I'm okay. I had a splitting headache before but it's winding down." "That bastard hit us hard." "My guess is he hit all of them hard," Scully spoke gently as she entered the kitchen and fetched her partner a glass of water. "I'm going to have to look for medication. Tylenol will help you feel better. I'll be right back." "Where are you going?" "To take a look around the houses." "He might not have been alone, Scully." "I think that he was. He was the only one attacking us. Don't worry, I'll be fine." While Scully rummaged through the houses, beginning with the one they were in, Mulder closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on something else but the bursting headache that just longed to send him back to oblivion. But he managed to stay alert and actually did start to feel a bit better while Scully was away. Some time later she came back with the loot: two boxes of Tylenols and aspirin, something for sore throats and cough syrup. "This is all I could find," she stated, placing the boxes on the living room table. "You look better." "Yeah." "Here." She handed him another glass of water, two Tylenols and a bagel. "Eat this first. It will help keep those pills down." Mulder did as he was told and chewed on a cold bagel before downing the tablets with the water. "Thanks, Scully." She smiled, touching his face. "You're welcome." "I've been thinking about the man who lived here," Mulder spoke. "He probably did a last attempt to escape this graveyard but did not make it. He was already very sick. He was most likely the only one getting away: otherwise the authorities should be here by now." "Our attacker did a good job isolating this place," Scully sighed. "All the phones are dead, as well as the few cell phones I have found. I found a few computers with modems but since the phone lines are destroyed, we can't use them either. I found nothing else: no walkie talkies or anything that would help us." "We might be able to fix some of the damage," Mulder suggested. "There is a garage here." "We're not exactly mechanics, Mulder. And he destroyed the engine blocks completely. He even took on the old cars." She hesitated, wondering if she should tell him what else she had seen. "What's wrong?" her partner asked. "There were more killings, Mulder. I found a family who died by gunshots. I think the mother killed her husband and two children and then herself. And another family died by knife-wounds; the same MO we saw in the first house." "God." "It was strange, Mulder. They looked as if they had gone crazy. I can't explain it any other way. Whatever this thing is, it's violent." While looking for medication, Scully had taken upon her the task of closing up all the other houses. She left the bodies as they were, covering them up with sheets and blankets. She closed all curtains and shut down all the lights. It left Nome in near-darkness with only a few old-fashioned streetlights burning and only the house of the highway man fully lit. After short deliberation, they had also decided to leave their suspect where he was for the time being. If he was infected with an illness, all close contact might be enough to infect them. But, as Mulder stated, it that would be like killing a fire with drops of water. He had touched Mulder with his bare hands when he tried to kill him. Scully had touched Mulder afterwards. And they had both touched the highway man themselves, and moved him into the trunk of the car, where he still lay. "He did a good job of isolating us," Mulder groaned, leaning forward on the comfortable couch in the living room. "What now?" "We walk back to the highway and find help. In the morning more cars will pass there," Scully suggested. "All we need to do is stop one that is willing to fetch help. We might not be as isolated as we think. Someone, somehow, should notice something. These people have friends and families. We just need to find a single person, you know." Mulder looked directly at her. "We can't do that, Scully." She hesitated, knowing what he was thinking. She had thought of it too. They were probably already infected. They could be transferring death upon others, as others had brought it upon them. "We can't leave Nome," Mulder spoke gently. "If we do that, we might cause an unstoppable plague. It needs to be confined in this town. As far as we know, that was our suspect's intent in the first place. I am assuming that so far, no one else outside this town has been contaminated. We can't be the ones doing that." "What then?" she asked desperately. "Wait here until we die? We don't know what this is. There could be a cure. I can't just sit around and hope it will pass, Mulder. I should be autopsying those bodies, you know." "No. It would enlarge our risk. You don't have the right equipment and means to do a proper examination here anyhow. I don't want you to touch any more bodies." "Anything could help us now," Scully argued. "It will at least tell us what this thing is doing to us." "It would expose you to an even greater risk. No, Scully. We have to get warning to the CDC and to Skinner. He will not get worried for another couple of days or so. By then it might be too late. They are the only ones right now who can help us." "And how are you planning to do that?" "We will walk to the highway, but we will not touch anyone. We still have gloves, right?" "Yep." "Mind getting some?" Scully watched as Mulder pulled on the latex gloves and removed his jacket. In it were his wallet and ID. With the tips of his fingers he took the wallet and placed it in a plastic evidence bag. He looked at her. "What do you think?" "It might work," she agreed. "I will check those phone lines," Mulder proposed. "See if I can spot where they might have been cut off. And we can only hope that our guy will change his mind and tell us what he has been up to." "Don't count on it," Scully replied. "He's obviously far gone." Her eyes found his. He saw the terror in them. He felt it too. They had never been this trapped before. Every means of escape was gone. Their fate rested upon a plastic bag with Mulder's wallet and ID in them, and the slightest possibility that someone might be willing to deliver it to the nearest police station. IX They had left their suspect on the street, tied up and harmless. He was still there and alert this time but also feverish and ill. He shivered in and felt extremely cold. He still did not say a word. His eyes spoke of the pain he was in. He had difficulty breathing. He sucked in the fresh air as if his lungs needed more effort to work. He had all major symptoms of the flu and the spots that reminded of the plague in darker ages. With gloves on both hands, Scully touched the man's throat. She could feel the heat through the latex. He was burning up. She could not tell whether the fever was from being shot or the infection. "Who are you?" Mulder asked, kneeling by the man's side. "Careful with him, Mulder," Scully urged her partner. "Don't touch him." The man's eyes darted from Mulder to Scully and said nothing. "Why did you destroy our car?" Mulder asked. Nothing. "All these people are dead, except for you. How can that be?" No response came from him. He just looked away. Mulder moved forward, touching the man's jacket. "Don't," Scully advised him, aware that her partner was not wearing gloves. He winked at her and cautiously removed the man's wallet, opening it carefully. As the man coughed, both agents instinctively jumped backwards. "His name is John Brandt," Mulder said. "He's from New York." "Anything else?" "Nothing much: driver's license, ID and some money." Mulder looked down at the man who had closed his eyes and seemed to be drifting off. Kicking him gently with the tip of shoe, the agent stirred their suspect. He opened his eyes again. Scully knelt down. "Mr. Brandt, we are FBI-agents. You can talk to us or to other officials. But we want to know why are here. You are obviously very sick. We need to help you." "Nobody can help me," Brandt suddenly groaned, his voice a raw, deep timbre. "It's too late." "Why?" Mulder asked. "I'm a goner, like the rest of "m. But I knew that would happen. You'll be goners too. It's too late now. Once you're here, you can never leave. I needed to stop you." "Do you have anything to do with the deaths of these people?" Mulder asked coldly. The man coughed roughly. "Of course I have. I'm the one who killed them." Scully held her breath before asking. "Using what?" John Brandt winced as the pain shot through his shoulder and leg. "I did to them the worst thing that could happen to any human being." "The plague, sir? Is that what this is?" "Worse than that," Brandt whispered hoarsely before his head tilted to the side and his body lost the battle with consciousness again. "Much worse." The agents looked at each other. Fear became desperation. Part Two I All urges to catch some proper sleep had left Dana Scully. After he lost consciousness, they had moved John Brandt into the highway man's house, into the master bedroom in the back. They used sheets to roll him in so that they would not touch him during the transfer. Both agents were not keen on getting the sick man into the house and in their vicinity but they had no other choice. Brandt was very sick and needed their help. They could not leave him, as all rules of humanity obligated them to do something. But Scully had insisted on keeping the wrists tied, even though he was out cold and probably could no longer hurt a fly. He was the reason they were stuck in their helpless situation in the first place and obviously not worth the risk. Scully covered the sick man up with a sheet and two blankets and watched him as he stirred in his sleep. He was far-gone, and very ill. And all they had to help him with was a nearly empty bottle of Tylenol, some aspirin and other useless medication. She should insist in doing an autopsy on the other bodies, she thought. That way at least she could spot some of the damage done to human tissue. But Mulder would not hear of it, and she understood why. Instead, she just closed the door, and hoped Brandt would wake up soon so she could feed him the Tylenol. She did not even know if that would do the man any good. Mulder had gone into the kitchen and found loads of fresh food: vegetables, fruit, bread, meat and cheese. There was enough to feed an army. The highway man obviously did not expect to die so quickly and had stashed his fridge and cabinets with food for an entire week. "We won't die of hunger at least," Mulder quipped out loud, ignoring the sizzling headache in the back of his head. He still felt like he was part of a dreamscape, not able to focus straight ahead, but at least he could stand on his own two feet. As he prepared a couple of sandwiches, Mulder understood the graveness of their situation all too well. They were trapped here by their own will now. They could not risk contaminating the population. Yet he could not grasp the fact they would be sitting here doing nothing. There had to be a way to survive. Sitting around was not their forte. Mulder coughed slightly, holding his hand before his mouth, feeling shock surge through his body. As he set the table for two, Scully entered. Mulder backed off automatically, hoping and praying his own instincts would be proven wrong. "He's getting worse," she sighed, sliding onto a chair. Mulder's gesture went by unnoticed. "I don't think we'll be getting answers from him anymore. He should be isolated further, but we can't leave him in one of the other houses, can we? It's all around us anyhow." "I can feel it too," Mulder agreed, putting down a plate for her. He had found canned soup and had warmed it up. Mulder felt strangely cold, despite the warm desert night. Scully ate her soup slowly, chewed on one sandwich and fought the knot in her stomach. "I'm afraid, Mulder," she suddenly whispered, looking at her partner with tears in her eyes. "I'm so afraid." "Hey." He moved towards her, shoving a chair closer to her so that they faced each other. He wanted to touch her face, wondering if it would infect her. Before he could make any decision, she grasped his hand and placed it against her cheek. This time he did not back off. He wiped the tears from her cheeks with his thumb. "It will be fine," he whispered. "Will it?" she asked horrified. "Mulder, our situation is serious. We can't solve this like we do a regular case. We are at the core of a serious problem. We don't know what this thing is, and what it's going to do to us. I'm scared. I don't want to end this way, you know. We deserve better." "We do deserve better and we are going to get it," he told her firmly. "Scully, we are going to beat this thing. We've been in bad situations before and we always pulled through. We will make it." "How can we, when our chances are fading with every second? How long do we have, Mulder? A day? Two? Or are we talking in hours here?" He moved up and pulled her against him, trying to calm her down. He had not seen her panic many times before but he understood why she showed it this time. They were both at the end of their rope. Their case in Green Town had worn them out. The lack of sleep and fatigue was tearing them apart. Why, in god's name, had he offered to drive to LA tonight of all nights? Why they were here, stuck in a situation that wasn't theirs to begin with, was beyond him. They had done nothing wrong but encounter the wrong man at the wrong time. But he accepted his responsibility. He would find a way out for them, and save them both. She needed him so much now, as he needed her. He took her in his arms and hugged her tightly. She responded to the grip and rested her head against his chest. "It will work out," he swore. She believed him. II They sat together in silence in the living room. Electricity was all that still worked in this house and Mulder had turned on the television to get a sense of the outside world and the normal life they did not have access to right now. Mulder's headache was slowly being replaced by a constant thumping against the insides of his skull. But he felt better after the soup and two sandwiches: more human. He could almost forget what rested inside those other houses. "What do you know of the Black Plague, Scully?" he asked his partner who leaned peacefully into him. He had put his feet up on the table, sitting straight up, while her head rested on a heavy pillow on his lap. He had wanted her to sleep but knew her mind was going crazy with thoughts and fears. Her presence felt comforting and somehow he could even manage to think they were a regular, everyday-couple watching television. Except for the fact it was five in the morning, of course, and they were waiting anxiously for the first daylight to set them on their way again. "It's a bacterial infection that has caused thousands of lives. It usually strikes in unhealthy environments and is often transferred throughout by rats, but once it hits human population, it can be very destructive." Scully sighed. "I did study a case once in medical school. In some countries the plague still exists, but in our Western culture it was eradicated a long time ago. The victims should be isolated and hospitalized immediately, and treated with aggressive antibiotics." "Do you think it's the plague we're dealing with here?" She moved up to face him. "No, I don't. The Bubonic Plague shows clearer symptoms and does not move as fast as this. I don't think that's what we are dealing with here. This biological agent, whatever it is, is probably multi-resistant. It can fight off common antibiotics; otherwise it would not have killed so quickly and so easily. For now I'm sticking with my bacterial infection-theory." "But that would mean that we might be saved: with proper antibiotics." "That's what I'm hoping for, Mulder. But like I said: I cannot know for sure without proper tests. As Brandt said: this is much worse. He is deteriorating by the hour and will probably die soon. I don't have any medical equipment here, or the means to help him. We can make him as comfortable as possible, but that is it. There is nothing else we can do for him now. Or for us, for that matter." "We are not sick," Mulder spoke convincingly. "As long as we don't have any symptoms, we should be fine. We still stand a chance. But we should try and talk to Brandt again. He's the only one who can give us details." "He won't say a word, Mulder. He tried to kill you, for goodness sake. The last time I checked he was conscious but refused to even look at me. He's no good. He'd rather die." "I'll take the highway walk then," Mulder suggested. "You have a concussion." "I'm fine." "I don't want you to go, Mulder," Scully spoke softly. "What if you're already sick? You could collapse somewhere and I wouldn't know about it. We need to stay together now. If we're going, we're going together." "No, Scully," her partner disagreed. "Brandt needs you more than I do right now. You need to make him as comfortable as possible. Perhaps he will wake up again and talk to us. I will be fine. I'm a big boy." "No, you won't," she almost screamed. "Neither of us will be." The softness in her voice was gone. He stared at her, shocked at her reactions. But he did not blame her for losing her cool. He was on the verge of losing it too, fighting possible defeat. He would not allow them to die this way, he swore. Never. "Scully, I want you to calm down and try to get some rest. I will check up on Brandt and go outside. It's getting clearer. I'll try to figure a way out." "Don't go," she begged of him. "Please, Mulder." "I have to and you know it. If only to warn people about this place." Tears filled her eyes. "Mulder, I -" "Don't say it," he stopped her. "Don't you dare say anything now." He knew she was going to talk about the unspoken feelings between them, all the things they still needed to discuss and the future they so eagerly wished for. He placed his fingers on her lips, touching her gently. He moved forward, replacing the touch by his mouth. He kissed her softly and tenderly. She closed her eyes. "In other circumstances I would have torn the clothes off you," he grinned, letting go of her. "But I'm going to start banging you now." She laughed, releasing the tension. "Too bad." His eyes found hers. "Some day it will happen," he vowed. "But not now. Not like this. It's not over yet." "Who knows: stuck in a snowed-in cabin in the Arctic or something. Anything's better than the desert right now," she replied wittily, feeling the sense of despair leave her for a few moments. He looked at her sheepishly, surprised that she took on the challenge. She laughed again. "You're not the only one with secret dreams, Agent Mulder." He patted her on the back. "But I am the only one right now who is going to go outside and find help. Get some rest, Scully." "I will." He watched as she laid herself down to rest, and placed a blanket over her. She shoved one arm underneath the pillow and the other one on top of it. Her eyes focused on him, unwilling to let go of him. "Be careful," she begged of him. "Always," he promised her. "Sleep now." Her body responded, even though her mind willed her stay awake. She felt herself dozing off, forgetting for just a few moments that her life was at danger. Mulder watched her as she fell asleep and coughed slightly behind his hand. He was already losing the battle against the illness and he knew it. He could feel it: like a invisible attacker slowly invading his insides. Like any illness that started off with a slightly itching throat, a cough here or there and some aches that did not seem as important first, but rapidly became vicious, subconscious enemies. He could feel it as he walked out of the house and stood alone in the abandoned street; when he walked into the garage, hoping to find something that would somehow be able to fix the busted engine; and when he tried to find any other means of transportation: like an old bike, or even roller skates. He went into the houses again, ignoring the scent. He rummaged though drawers and cupboards, racks and basements. He stared at bodies covered with blankets and sheets. There was a smaller body in the house at the far right of Nome. He pulled away the sheet and looked at the remains of a young, blonde girl. She could no have been older than seven. She was one of the two children murdered by her mother. And Mulder understood why. These people had been so desperate they preferred to die quickly instead of awaiting death. He covered up the girl and closed the door quietly. Finally Mulder came back empty-handed, and more desperate than ever. The cough rapidly deteriorated and his throat felt like it would explode from within. "Rope burn," he mumbled out loud, forcing himself not to concentrate on what was ravaging him from the inside. Instead, he chose to return to the house, and get ready for his trip to the highway. III Mulder left Scully lying exhausted and in deep sleep on the couch. He was worried about her. The responsibility weighed heavily on him. She needed him now, more than anything. If anything, he wanted to give her a few moments of peace before things became even worse. A dizzy spell overwhelmed the agent. He grasped the door and stood still, waiting for a few seconds until the sensation passed. Then he swayed towards the master bedroom where he found John Brandt surprisingly awake and rather alert. The agent fetched him a glass of water from the kitchen and two Tylenols, placing them in the man's hands. Brandt smiled at the pills politely. He did drink the water though, holding the glass with his two hands. Even though the ropes made it more difficult for him to hold on to it, Mulder still refused to release him. John Brandt placed the glass on top of the blankets and focused on the agent who stood and watched him from a distance. He seemed to find it interesting that Mulder would not touch him. "You're sick," Brandt remarked, his blue eyes staring up in honest surprise. Mulder raised an eyebrow la Scully. "How did you know?" "You're pale. You're coughing. You're tired. You feel like you can just drop down any second and die." "I caught a bug. It's called John Brandt. You hit me hard before." "Ah yes, and now you blame that for your current symptoms. I understand, my friend." "Tell me more," Mulder urged. "It always begins that way," Brandt continued gently. "First you're starting to feel terrible: exhausted, tired and aching. Your legs feel heavy. You think you're catching a cold and cannot shake that feeling of exhaustion. You start coughing to get rid of that annoying little itch in your throat. And that is just the beginning." "What happens then?" Mulder asked, sitting in a chair near the window, feeling ice cold as Brandt continued to explain the details of the illness. "You have difficulty breathing when your throat becomes sore," Brandt whispered softly. "You feel strength being sucked out of you, just like that. It's as if your body tires with every step you take. Dark spots later on appear on your body. You have no control over your consciousness. You sink in and out of it constantly. And you feel your body's condition deteriorating. You have fevers; high fevers that make you delirious. You're sick but you can't put your finger on what it is that it's raging through you. It's like the flu, only far worse. You become delirious. You see things. Strange things. You'll want to die before it takes you. It's that strong, you know." Brandt's eyes wearily stared outside the window. "And suddenly you feel a bit better, when you transgress into the final stages of the infection." "Like you," Mulder spoke numbly. "Yes," Brandt spoke quietly, "like me. In the end the fevers go away. You feel alert again, and even vivid. But that's just the beginning of the ending. Your body is fooling you. You think you're pulling through, that it was all just a bad dream. But in the end, life's little irony gives you a glimpse of what you will be missing before you die." "What is this illness called that you gave this town?" Brandt hesitated. "Come on. You made pretty sure Scully and I will not be leaving this town alive. At least give us the courtesy of telling us what is killing us." Brandt smiled. "It doesn't have a name yet. And it's not a disease but a bacterial infection." "Was it fabricated by someone?" "Yes." "Who?" "I can't tell you." "Tell me, Brandt." The man smiled. "You wouldn't believe me." "I have seen a lot of things not to believe." Brandt looked at him strangely and spoke calmly. "The irony of the matter, sir, is that your own government is killing you." "This is a test site?" Mulder leaned forward, staring intently at Brandt. "Is that what this is about? You chose this town as a test site?" The man nodded. "For what? Did you spread a virus?" "No, I didn't. It's a bacterial infection." "And it doesn't have a name yet?" "No. They mutated the Black Plague to develop this thing. It's vicious and swifter than the plague." "Why?" "They wanted a biological weapon that would wipe out a population in less than a week. This thing is transferred by the simple touch of living skin on skin. By the time anyone would realize it is not the flu, it's too late." Mulder reached forward. "Why here? Why Nome?" "A secluded town in the middle of the desert is the perfect setup. By the time anyone would figure out what happened to these people, all evidence would be long gone." "Why Nome?" He shrugged. "I liked the name; picked the town out at random." "But you knew that someone infected might be leaving the town's borders, infecting the whole state. You couldn't know that you would be able to keep everyone here. And what if someone enters the town now? They would get infected too!" Brandt laughed. "I did let one man get away; didn't even know he had escaped until you brought him back. Good thinking there, sir. If you had touched him while he was still alive and driven on, you would have been responsible for wiping out the state." "But people will still be infected." "The fun part of this infection, sir, is that it's no longer effective once the subject dies. Touching a dead man's skin does not transfer it to you. We figured out that by the time anyone found out they were all dead, any trace of the infection would be gone. That's why I chose an isolated town like this one and I made sure everyone stayed put. I infected myself. The first persons to touch me became ill shortly after. They touched their beloved and those became infected too." "Then why did you survive them all?" "I had a way of prolonging my fate." "How?" He smiled. "You shouldn't worry about that. I don't have any of the antidotes left." "So there is an antidote?" "Of course there is." "What is it?" "It's quite simple really, and quite effective. But you needn't figure that out now. It's all gone." Mulder shook his head. "You infected yourself, made sure everyone else became ill, injected yourself with medication and then became ill again so that you would die last." "The dosage of treatment I received was small. I knew I would die eventually." "And we happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time," Mulder sighed, realizing the irony of the matter. Had they been only a few moments earlier or later, they would have never run into the highway man. They would never have known. "Yeah. Tough luck." A serious of coughs followed as Brandt tried to suck in as much air as he could. He was having difficulty speaking but his words sounded clear and alert. He was in the final stages of the infection where sanity was the last straw holding onto life. "How long before we die?" "A day, maybe two, if you're strong. But you are already sick. I can tell. You're not going to last longer than a day. You're in a weaker state than she is." "I threw up after you hit me." "Ah. Well, sorry about that." "You could have saved yourself, if what you say is true," Mulder spoke softly. "I couldn't be saved as much as you. Once you touched me, it was over for you." "You tried to kill me." "Of course I did. I wanted to make it easy on you. I think you will become sicker than your lady friend. You are physically weaker than she is and you already have the onset of symptoms. I touched you, when I attacked you. You were in close contact with my bare hands. She wasn't. She will only become infected when the infection has fully incubated; which should be right about now." Brandt almost choked as a new series of coughs sent him off. Mulder rose and helped the man sit up straight, removing the rope on impulse. The attacker stared at him shocked, startled by the agent's humane gesture. He winced as the bandaged shoulder hurt but Brandt knew it would be over soon. What was a little pain when it was all he had left to remind him of life? "Thank you," he said friendly as Mulder fetched him a second glass of water. He drank it eagerly. The itching in his throat was gone; he had suffered from it for the past day or so while everyone else around him died. It had not been so difficult holding them hostage. During the night of his arrival, he had sabotaged the phones and destroyed the car engines, sledge hammered the bikes and cut off all communication with the outside world. When the first people became ill, he sat back and watched. They all believed he was responsible, but had become too weak too soon to do anything about his presence. And when they died, one by one, he had apologized for doing this to them. "Take it easy." Mulder sat down again watching Brandt, who moved his legs over the edge of the bed, leaning on his good arm as he sought a good way to sit relaxed. "I didn't know there were friendly government people too," Brandt remarked. "Who are you, John? Are you an army man? NSA? CIA?" "None of the above, sir." "Then why did they recruit you?" "It was my own choice," he shrugged. "I went to them, seeking revenge." "Why?" "I have nothing left in this world. My family is gone, killed." "How?" Brandt stared at the floor. "They were at the wrong place at the wrong time too, killed by those who destroyed human life for a so called religious cause." "September 11th?" Brandt looked up, surprised that the agent had guessed it. "Yes." "I'm sorry to hear that, sir." "Yeah well." He became somber. "That's life." "And now you are doing the same. You are helping to destroy those who destroyed your family, aren't you?" "Yes." "But you are killing your own kind first." "Every war has its casualties, sir. People need to die to save lives. That's what my father told me. I never believed him, until they asked me to do this." Mulder shook his head. "No, Mr. Brandt. This shouldn't have happened. Your family would not have wanted this. Do you really believe anyone would want to fight this by using their own people as tests first?" He shrugged again. "It's too late now. What's done is done." "How can we be saved?" Mulder asked hoarsely. "Tell me how." "I won't." "So you will just wait until you die?" "Yes. Too much has already happened. They would kill me anyhow, like they did to the man who tried to steal the pathogen. He created it first and then regretted it, taking off with it. And they killed him." John finally turned away from Mulder, carefully leaning back on the bed. "I'm tired, sir." "Rest then." Mulder felt a strange sense of sympathy for the man who had sacrificed his life for his cause. But he was and he remained a murderer, despite the reasons he so firmly believed in. He could not be trusted. The agent wrapped the rope around Brandt's wrists again, who did not put up a fight but kept his eyes closed. Perhaps he was already on the verge of dying, or faking unconsciousness. It did not matter anymore. Mulder locked the room and left the man alone. Glancing outside, Mulder noticed morning light slowly changing the world into a brighter place. But their situation became worse by the minute. And he knew they did not have much time. Scully appeared to be fine when he left her, but he was suffering a worse fate. He could tell. He looked at himself in the bathroom mirror and noticed how pale his skin had become, how large the rings around his eyes had grown and how ghastly ill he had started to look. The itch that remained stuck in the insides of his throat was growing worse. He felt like coughing his lungs out just to get rid of it. It was bad. Scully was still asleep in the living room, he noticed, feeling gratitude for small things. She would rest and gather her strength. She was buying herself a bit more time. He walked outside, breathed in the fresh air and overlooked the houses of the small ghost town of Nome. No one would live in this place ever again. Nome would end up a small dot in history, forgotten by all. Perhaps CNN would dedicate a special to the mystery of the dead of Nome, and then it would be over. Or perhaps the town would become a mystery; worth a tourist's visit on occasion. Only the families of those who had found their end here would remember. And if they died here too, perhaps they would end up an X-File in their own filing cabinets. Like hell they would die here. It was not over yet. Mulder shivered, sensing a chill running down his spine. He was extremely cold, despite the early morning heat. It would be a very warm day; yet he knew that he would not feel warm at all. He walked through town again, hoping one last time to find an unexpected means of communication. If not, he would walk the two miles or so to the highway, find a stranger in a passing car, and hope and pray that this person would want to help him. The plastic bag with his badge and wallet were in his pocket. If Brandt's story were true, only human touch would transfer the infection All he needed to do then was to avoid physical contact and get someone to call for help. He would have to avoid Scully too. She would only become ill by his hand. Mulder sighed and started the gruesome task of going through all the houses once again, desperately trying to ignore that horrible scent of death that only became worse. With the heat on the houses, the smell would become unbearable in less than a day. And that was only the least of their problems. IV Mulder started walking. He had searched through every single house, looking through every cupboard for anything that might help. Nothing. His cell phone worked nowhere. All the phones were dead. All cars were tampered with or simply destroyed. The bikes were gone too. Nothing. Not a single way out; but for a walk towards the highway and an attempt to find someone. But the highway man had escaped. He had reached help. Now Mulder would too. Mulder felt tired, coughing his lungs out. He stumbled into the direction of the highway, taking the one road that lead to the ghost town. But he felt so tired. So very, very tired. If only he could take a nap. Yeah, that sounded like a pretty good idea, he thought. A good, firm nap. Rest. It would improve the situation perhaps. Oh yes, it would be so easy giving up. As the sun burned down on him, he realized this all too well. V Scully woke up startled, opening her eyes instantly. Something was wrong. She was not at home, or in any motel. She did not recognize this place. Something was definitely not right with the world this morning. She had difficulty remembering. Her head felt like it was going to burst; a headache pounded behind her eyes, tapping at her senses. "Mulder?" She remembered with a shock of reality surging through her. She was in a ghost town, with dead people lying scattered in ten houses. The clock down the hall beat constantly. And Mulder was gone. She moved up, slid into her shoes and moved her hair behind her ears in an impatient haul. "Mulder, are you here?" Her partner did not answer. She glared at her watch, startled to grasp the fact that she had slept over two hours. "Mulder?" She moved through the house, remembering John Brandt's presence in the main bedroom. She opened the door, expecting her partner to be there, but he was not. Instead, she found a very still Brandt lying on the bed, turned sideways. He did not stir as she entered the room. She moved carefully closer. Brandt was dead: his eyes staring to the window. He had a strange smile on his face. Scully sighed. Their last hope was gone. She respectfully placed a blanket over him and left the room quietly, closing the door on the way out. Now this house was no longer freed from ghosts either. Instinctively she grabbed her cell phone to call her partner, only to realize it still did not function. It never would in this area. "Please be alright Mulder," she prayed out loud as she walked outside. "Mulder!" She called out his name, standing in the middle of the street. "Mulder, answer me!" Nothing but silence responded to her. Nothing but nothingness surrounded her. The fear returned in full force. VI Tiredness overtook Mulder as he swayed down the road. Even now, with the roaring of the highway clearly to be heard in the far distance, he still felt as if he were alone in the world. He had not looked back to see the town of Nome behind him, nor did he look ahead of him. He had no idea how long he had been walking, or how far he was from the highway. Every step seemed to take its effort. He felt as if nothing could push him forward. He was not even further than two hundred feet away from Nome, but he did not know that. To him, it seemed as if he had been walking for an eternity. His feet barely responded to him. His legs seemed heavier than concrete blocks. His mind drifted off to no-man's-land. Why was the sun burning so hot? Why was he so dizzy? So nauseated? So warm? "Keep walking," he urged himself out loud. "Keep walking. Think happy thoughts. Positive thoughts." But even then his mind drifted off, going into nothingness. "Scully. Think of Scully. Hot tubs with Scully. Dinner with Scully. Universal with Scully -" His legs suddenly made a move of their own, sliding into the wrong direction. He fell forward, hands instinctively breaking the fall. He found himself lying forward, face staring at the sand underneath him. Strange, he thought. Why am I lying here? I should be moving up. I should be - Then his thoughts were gone. His mind had nothing left to do but shut down completely. He rolled to the side and saw something coming towards him. A snake. He remembered snakes. Move up. Move up! He forced himself with all his will to sit up. He shoved his legs before him with both hands, staring at them as if to order them. He moved up again, away from the snake that slithered into the bushes. He was standing up. "Good work," he murmured. "Now walk." His body hardly responded. He had never experienced anything like it before. Even during the worst case of the flu he'd ever had, he still had some sort of control over his body. Every single step forward cost him effort. It was like Brandt had predicted it: Every move sucked the strength out of him. "Don't stop now," he whispered. "Don't stop." He fell three, four times. And five maybe. But every time he was able to get up, and to move. He had to go on. Had to tell someone that they were dying. "Just move." VII Scully was on the verge of panicking. She felt tired, but better thanks to the few hours of sleep. She had eaten another stale sandwich and poured down three slugs of hot instant coffee. And Mulder still had not shown up, leaving her alone with extremely important decisions to make. She knew where he was of course: he was walking to the highway. She was angry with him for taking the risk by himself, and angry with herself for sleeping through it. Pacing through the house for half an hour was more than long enough. Finally she grabbed a bottle of water, a few sandwiches and her gun and left the house. There was only one road leading towards the highway and she would follow it until she found her partner. Her instincts told her to move. Every inch of her being warned her Mulder was in danger. Perhaps it was already too late. She had waited too long. No, she thought. It could not be too late. No infection could kill this rapidly. They still had a chance for as long as they breathed and moved about. As she started to walk, she took a swift pace. There were two miles to walk to the highway. She would cover them in record time if needs be. She had not covered even three hundred feet when she suddenly stopped, warned by her sixth sense that something was wrong. She already heard the roar of the highway before her. If Mulder had heard it too, he would be motivated by it to keep on going. He would never give up. Yet she found herself standing still, looking around her for signs of life. And then she saw her partner, away from the road and into the bushes, off the road. He was less than ten feet from her, and she had not noticed it. She saw him lying forward; face down, one arm underneath him and the other by his side. His legs spread a little, one knee bent. His body did not stir. He seemed dead. "Mulder!" She crossed through the bushes, scaring off two snakes as she rushed towards her partner, praying that those same snakes or any other animals hiding here had not bitten him. Within a few seconds she was by his side, touching his throat that still bore the traces of rope burn. He was breathing. It was a shallow breath, but at least it was there. He did not flinch as she touched him. "Oh god," she whispered, realizing the situation had just gotten a whole lot worse. Her partner was burning up. Her fingers seemed to burn. "Mulder, it's me. Come on. Listen to me. I know you've got to be in there somewhere." He did not respond. "Mulder, god. I need your help, partner. I can't leave you to the snakes, can I?" Tears of desperation sprung in her eyes. She could not carry him back into town, or leave him alone to find help at the highway. Snakes would claim him, as the desert always meant a certain death. "Come on." She turned him carefully, hoping he had not gotten hurt in his fall. She then took the bottle out of her pocket and wet her hand. It had remained relatively cold in her pocket. She placed her hand on her partner's forehead, feeling how hot he was. The fever had already set in. He stirred. She wet her hand again, placing it on his left cheek, touching his skin. "Come on, Mulder. I know you're in there. Listen to me. Remember what I promised you before. Wake up." He blinked his eyelids. She smiled relieved, releasing a breath that had been held in pure tension. He stared at her strangely. She realized quickly he didn't recognize her. "Mulder, it's me. It's Scully. Do you know where you are?" He closed his eyes. "No, stay awake. Can you do that for me? Listen to my voice. You can't afford to sleep now. I need you to move up. I can't move you by myself." "Tired," he slurred, his voice sounding tired and strained. He had difficulty talking and breathing. How could this infection hold him in his grip so quickly? How could he be so ill and she be so unaffected? "Open your eyes." He did as she said. "That's good, Mulder. Now listen to me: do you know who I am?" "Scul - Scully." "Do you know where you are?" He had to think about that one. "In hell." She laughed. "Not yet." He grinned strangely and she knew he was back among the living, responsive to her touch. "What happened -?" "You're sick." "I - gathered that much." "I'm going to have to get you back into town, Mulder." "No. High - Highway." "Not now. I'm not leaving you like this. We're going to get you back first. I'll head for the highway afterwards." "L - Leave me, S - Scully." "I can't, Mulder." "I'm - fine." "You know you're not. We'll find another way." "No other way." Mulder closed his eyes, feeling tiredness overwhelm him. It was so easy to give in again. But Scully stomped him hard, forcing him to stay alert. He groaned at her touch. "No way buddy," she warned him, grasping his arm. "Get up. Now!" "Don't touch me!" His voice sounded hard suddenly, as if he came to realize something. And he did. He remembered what Brandt had told him. Infection came by touching. Every skin on skin touch could infect Scully. He did not want this on his conscience. He could be killing her right now. She looked hurt by his exclamation. "Mulder -" "I'm sick," he groaned. "So am I, Mulder." "Not. Not yet." "I am. I touched the highway man, and Brandt. And you. Several times. If you have it, I have it too. It's too late to protect me now. You can't do this without me. You will need to rely on me." "Leave me." "Never!" she nearly cried out, grasping him firmly. It took a few attempts but finally Scully managed to get her partner up on his feet, leaning heavily into her. He was coughing vigorously and every move took major strength out of him. It worried her to the extreme. As far as she knew, he could be dying on the spot. "We'll take it easy, Mulder," she told him. "Step by step. We'll get there. We'll find the cure. I swear to you that we will." He clung onto her and believed her. VIII The sun was approaching its peek as the agents walked back step by step to the forced isolation of Nome. It was extremely frustrating for Scully to watch her partner struggle with his tiredness. Every five steps or so, taken very carefully and cautiously, Mulder stopped, took deep breaths and moved again. He was so determined not to give up and it pleased her beyond anything. He had vowed to go on and he would. She believed in that. But his condition was so bad it made her fear she was losing him as they walked. Within hours of infestation, the infection had taken nearly full control over his system. This would happen to her too, within the next hours. Right now she was the only one left to figure this thing out. "Not dead yet," her partner groaned in between steps as if he was able to read her mind. "It will. Take. Much more than this." They both panted heavily by the time they reached the invisible border of Nome. Scully felt a strange sense of relief as she opened the highway man's house and helped Mulder carefully inside. She could not put him in the master bedroom and chose the spare bedroom instead that held a small but comfortable bed. She shoved aside some boxes. It was right next door to Brandt's body but that could not be helped for now. Every single house was infested now; death was all around them. The second she opened the bedroom door; she could feel Mulder's body collapse forward. He had used all his strength to get here and now it was gone. He fell next to the bed, slumping forward with as little as a sigh. He had not warned her he was about to pass out; he probably did not even see it coming. Scully knelt down worried, touching her partner's throat. Moving him on his side, she cleared his airways, hearing the difficulty with which he breathed. He was too heavy to be moved onto the bed by her alone. She had to wait until he woke up and was able to help her. And so she waited for little more than half an hour until he finally opened his eyes again, and stared feverish into hers. All the time she refused to leave him alone, desperately praying he would not stop breathing just like that. "Scully," he whispered, his desperation clearly heard in his voice as his eyes sought hers. "I'm here," she whispered gently. "I'm here, Mulder." He grasped her hand, holding it against his face. His skin was even hotter than before. The temperature alone could send him into seizures before killing him. She needed to cool him down. She leaned forward, holding onto him. They had never been this close before: bound to death and the options of escaping their fate fading away. "It's okay," she soothed him. "It's okay. I'm here." After the fourth attempt or so she managed to get him onto the bed and started stripping him. He let her, proving to her once again how far gone she was. She shook her head softly as she realized that soon she too would suffer high fevers. She needed to find ways to prevent this. "I'll be right back," she whispered, leaving him alone, clad only in his boxers and T-shirt. He closed his eyes and turned away from her, trying to concentrate. He needed to be alert. But instead, as he opened his eyes, he saw several people standing in the room. With shock he stared at them, realizing who they were. They were the ones living in Nome: the ones who had died for the cause of chemical warfare. "No," he whispered hoarsely, "I'm not there yet. I don't want to die. A child approached him and smiled as if to say: It's not so bad. He recognized the girl whose body lay rested underneath the sheet. She represented death to him and he knew why she was the one approaching him. He turned his head towards the wall and refused to look at the ghosts. It had to be a dream, a delirium sent to him by the fevers. It was not real. Scully re-entered the room with cold towels. She had soaked them in water and placed them on top of him. He winced as the fabric touched him. "They'll help take the fever down," she soothed, "just relax now." "You're giving me a hard-on," he groaned as one the towels was placed over his abdomen and private parts. "I won't take advantage of the situation." "Too bad," he whispered. She smiled and placed a smaller wet cloth on his forehead. He looked funny covered with fabrics but she knew it would help. The most important thing now was to get the fever down. "Mulder, I want you to listen to me," Scully whispered, grasping her partner's attention. "I know you didn't want me to, but I need to autopsy John Brandt's body. Do you understand why?" ""S okay," he slurred, "you won't get sick." "Why not?" she asked quietly. "Brandt told me. After death, infection gone." "Did you talk to Brandt?" "Yeah. Told me why. Poor guy. Tests, Scully. Tests." "Tests of what?" "New illness." "What can we do about it?" "Antidote. Had antidote. Took it. Temporary cure. He became sick again. Scully, it hurts." "What does, Mulder?" she asked startled. "Throat. Everything. Hurts." "It's okay," she whispered soothingly, finding his feverish eyes. "Get some rest now." "Stay with me." "I'll be here." She settled down on the bed and caressed her partner until he dozed off into deep sleep. Even then he stirred and groaned on a steady basis, as his body fought off the high fevers. After a while she moved up and left him in the room, leaving the door open. She opened the door to the master bedroom and looked down on Brandt's body. He held the secrets to their possible rescue and she would find out what they were. She would save them both, even if it nearly killed her first. Science was all she had, but she could use it to find the truth. IX Mulder had gone into deep sleep by the time the sun settled high in the skies, covering the desert with its unforgiving warmth. Scully's body felt sore through and through when she set on to search through Brandt's pockets. She didn't find much: a key chain with a photo of woman and child, a piece of paper that read "Nome" and "Population: 24", and another piece of paper that looked like a wrapping. It was a brown paper wrapping that she was certain she had seen before. She shook her head and put it aside. A key chain usually came with a key, she figured, but it was not there. She searched through the man's clothing and found nothing else. She had Brandt's body stretched out on top of the bed and looked down at his pale face. She had never done an autopsy using kitchen utensils before but anything would do right now. She only needed a few good sharp knifes a scale and towels. That sufficed. She took deep breaths and tried not to panic. She was not exactly eager on doing this, but had no choice. It could help. In the kitchen she rummaged through the drawers and soon found all she needed. She returned with her equipment to the bedroom and started stripping the dead man of his clothes. She could not move him to the kitchen table where it might be easier to work, so this bed would have to do. As she placed the clothes onto a chair, she glared outside. Her eye felt on the decent car parked next to the trucks and their own rental car. It had stood out when they entered town. It was a rental car too, and Brandt had driven it. She left the dead man's body where it was and rushed outside. They had found this car's engine block destroyed too, but had not gone through any of the other vehicles, except to look for a cell phone. Scully had seen the brown paper wrapping inside that car. She opened the passenger door and looked at the bottom of the car. There it was: the same wrapping. Inside it there was a small broken vial. Scully grabbed a glove from her pocket and used it to pick up the vial. It was smashed. There was no doubt in the agent's mind this thing had held the destructive bacteria. "I've got something, Mulder," she whispered exhausted and pleased. Her eyes scanned the rest of the car. There was something stuffed underneath the car seat. She moved forward and grabbed it. It was a syringe. Empty but with small, minuscule drops still in it. Mulder had spoken of an antidote. This could be it! "Oh yeah," she smiled. "Oh yeah." As fast as she could, she rushed back towards the house only to find her partner standing there, staring at her with her own gun pointed straight at her. Part three I Scully thought she knew terror, until it pointed its ugly head directly into her direction. Her partner had aimed a gun at her before. He had threatened to kill himself in the past too. But never like this. Until this very moment, she had never believed he would actually kill her. This time, he chose to kill her because he felt there was no other way to release the pain. Now he had a true reason to do it. She never thought he would be the one killing her. But there he was. And here she was, too. Mulder had waken up only a few moments before in the full brightness of the room where his partner had left him. The sun bothered his eyes. He turned to his side and closed his eyes again, hoping to return to the oblivion that would not come. It took him quite some time to figure out where he was or why he was there. Finally, he did make the effort to move. Instead of finding Scully at his side, he found the ghosts staring at him again. They were standing around the bed, watching him calmly. He could see through them and blinked his eyes several times, hoping he was dreaming this. But they would not go away, no matter what he did. The little girl touched his hand and he could feel a cold sensation rush through him, sending thoughts to his mind. "I know," he whispered out loud. He felt a strange pain rush through his body: like sharp knifes cutting into flesh and bone, skin and muscle. He knew the destructive powers of that horrible illness were claiming him. He did not want it to happen this way: to wait until death came to fetch him. He wanted the quick way out. He had not told Scully about the visions. He had not thought it would happen to him. But here he was, feeling the sudden urge to die. Perhaps he should kill her too. She was sick. She would want to end it as swift as he did. He would do that for her. He would help her. They should die together anyhow. He slipped off the bed, dropping the towels on the floor, ignoring the ghosts that came to haunt him, and rummaged through the room for something to help him. Her jacket. Her gun. He held it and it felt good. He stumbled out of the room, clad in the white shirt and pants he had on since yesterday, into the master bedroom where the nearly naked body of John Brandt lay. There were knifes and a scale too. He shook his head, feeling the sudden nausea creep up. Holding a hand before his mouth he closed his eyes and forced himself to ignore the knot in his stomach. But he could not ignore the aching feeling in his belly. He wanted to die before it became worse. And it would become worse before the end. She was in the car, and he moved towards her, holding up her gun. As she spun, she found herself staring into the barrel of her own weapon. "Mulder?" Her voice sounded scared and stressed. She had been through so much, he thought. She would rather die with him, instead of waiting for the end. There was no way out of here, anyway. He might as well get it over with. "I'm helping you," he groaned, refusing to lower the gun despite her pleads. "I should make it easier." "This is not helping us either, partner. Listen to me: I have the solution in my hands. It's right here. I found the vial that contained the original infection, and the means to save us." He blinked his eyelids, still not lowering the weapon. "Look at it. It's a syringe. You said he had an antidote on him. This is probably it. I will be able to figure this one out. It will be difficult but we can do it. Can you just hold on for me a little longer? I'm going to help you." "It hurts," he whispered. Her eyes betrayed the sympathy she felt for him. "I know. Believe me, Mulder, I know. But you can make it. You need to have faith in me." He seemed to hesitate as a million thoughts rushed through him. Did he really want to end it this way? He had to. The ghosts told him to. Yet his very own system struggled with the idea of killing Scully. But he wanted to help her, and himself. He had to. It would make it easier. "You will not do it, Mulder," she whispered gently. "You can't. I'm your friend. Your partner." "You shot me once too." "I had to. I would do it again." "I want to kill you now. It will go easier." She shook her head. "Nobody needs to be killed. I understand what you are going through but you don't have to. Let me help you." She carefully placed the vial and syringe on the hood of the car and stretched out her hand. "Trust me, Mulder." Not even a second later, a stranger's voice sounded loud and hard. In other circumstances, Scully would have relished the fact that someone had finally come to their rescue, but right now she could have cursed the deputy who held his gun on Mulder. II "Drop it!" the deputy shouted, aiming his gun directly at Mulder. All he saw was a suspect holding a weapon to someone else. He could not know what the true story was. "No!" Scully screamed, instantly realizing what would happen. Mulder automatically spun aside, no longer wavering his gun at his partner, but at the man standing at a clear distance from them. In other circumstances he would not have reacted this way. Now he was not able to think levelheaded. It all happened so fast Scully hardly remembered how she could have reacted so fast afterwards. The split second her partner moved his aim from her to the deputy, she threw herself forward, lunging at Mulder's legs. A shot rang out during that same millisecond. As she fell on top of her partner, she could hear something heavy fall on the ground beside them: her gun. Scully instantly moved up, grasping her partner's collar. She lay on top of his unmoving body. "No," she cried out horrified, instantly noticing her partner's extremely pale face, his closed eyes and the blood pouring out from a neat little hole in his white shirt. It came from his upper right arm. She ripped the sleeve apart, taking in the entry and exit hole. The bullet had gone through and through. From the looks of it, the deputy had been a very bad shot but a good enough one to immobilize her partner. Or was it her own reaction that had saved her partner's life? Scully heard the deputy's footsteps rushing towards them while she moved to Mulder's side. She looked up and spoke fiercely: "No!" The deputy stopped in his tracks, startled by her reaction. She noticed the sheriff's car standing at the beginning of the street, only ten feet away from them. Neither of them had heard it. How could have they missed it? "Don't come any closer!" she shouted, alarming the deputy with her sharp voice. "Who are you?" he replied, standing a few feet away from her. His glance went from her to her unconscious partner. "He was going to kill you." "We are FBI-agents," she replied harshly. "You shot my partner." "He had a gun on you!" "He's very sick, delirious. I had it under control," she countered. "I didn't know that. He was holding a weapon to your head. I had to respond -" He stopped, staring at the houses with closed drapes. "Where is everyone? I haven't been able to contact Greg Riker the entire morning. The phone lines are dead. Where are they?" Scully held up her hand, stopping the deputy's nervous rambling. "Listen to me carefully," she spoke out of breath, but as calmly and coolly as she could. "Nome has been infected with a destructive bacteria. As far as we know, it can only be transferred by contact with the skin of infected subjects. You cannot come any closer. I need to you to contact the FBI and warn them. Call Assistant-Director Skinner in Washington. He will know what to do. Tell him to warn the CDC. Can you do that?" The deputy stared at her in utter astonishment. "What happened to the folks who live here?" "They're all dead. We are the only ones left. Our lives are in danger. You need to warn the CDC. Do you understand what I'm saying?" He nodded and moved backwards, away from her, terrified that she might be infecting him with whatever killed his friends. "Wait!" The deputy stood still. Scully left her partner lying on the ground and rushed back into the house, grabbing the plastic bag with Mulder's badge and ID. She used her last glove to do so. As she returned outside, she found the deputy standing at a short distance from her partner. He seemed upset and very confused. He's just a kid, she thought, but she did not have time to deal with the possible consequences of his involvement. He was their only hope. She threw the bag at him. He caught it and stared at the ID inside the plastic bag. "Call the FBI. Assistant-Director Skinner. I haven't touched the bag with my bare hands so it should be okay. We don't have time. Any second counts now. Have you got that?" The deputy nodded and held onto the bag. "What about you? What can I do for you? We should get you to the hospital. I'm sorry about your partner -' "No," Scully spoke firmly. "We can't risk contaminating anybody else. You have to get the CDC here and leave us behind for now. Don't go anywhere near the ones you love. You might already be infected too. We don't know what this thing is." The deputy grabbed the plastic bag with the tips of his fingers and hurried back to the sheriff's vehicle. He was used to coming here; this had been his turf for the past three years. He liked the people of Nome. And they were all dead. All gone. He only had the redhead's word for it, but he believed her. The man he had shot was an FBI-agent. She was fierce enough to be one too. "Please," she spoke softly as he opened his car door, kneeling by her unconscious partner. "Please hurry." The deputy had no idea what he had gotten himself into, but it could only mean bad news. The woman's despair was written all over her face. And she refused to let him near her, forcing him to accept the grave reality as it were. He had no doubt in his mind this was deadly serious. If they were all dead, he could only do his best to save at least two people. With that thought, he rushed away from Nome, into the direction of the highway where he would call the station. He needed to get his thoughts straightened out first. The worst scenario he had ever seen was a car crash that killed an entire family, and this was by far much worse. As he crossed the two miles towards the highway and spun his vehicle onto the right lane, he grabbed the microphone, dropping it nervously from his sweaty hands. "Damn it!" He leaned forward, picked it up by the cable and looked up again, only to see a truck coming straight to him. The last thing the deputy heard were honking horns and screeching tires, as he came to realize that he was the one driving in the wrong lane. The truck then crashed directly into him, spinning the sheriff's 4x4 off the road and into the ditch. The vehicle tumbled four times, ended upside down and threw the deputy out the car. The man died as soon as his head hit the concrete. When the 4x4 came to a stop, debris lay scattered over a radius of twenty-five feet. Among the shards, lay a plastic bag with Mulder's identification papers. III It took Scully all she had not to burst into tears. She was losing it and she knew it. After the deputy left to find help she was left alone with her partner, who would not respond to anything she did to raise him. He remained lying on the street, with dust raising up and covering them. He was totally out of it, shutting his body out of conscious contact. He was in a comatose-like state where she could not reach him. The fever that had ravaged his body was holding him in its grip now. She had stopped the bleeding, thanking the gods once again for showing at least a mild sense of sympathy. All in all, the damage was not too bad. It would hurt like a bitch for a while, but at least nothing was beyond repair. But she could not get him to respond or to react to any stimuli. She had tried it all, eventually even fetching the towels again soaked in water to place over his body. After what seemed like an eternity, he finally stirred and stared at her unseeingly. She knew he had no idea of where he was or how he had gotten there: his way of grasping a reality too hard to accept. She coughed and tried to ignore that damned itch dancing in her throat. She wished she could catch a nap in Mulder's arms. "Mulder." Relief surged through her as he moved, holding her hand. He watched her as she rubbed tears from her cheeks. She was angry at herself for crying. "Hey." That single word made her smile broadly. He touched her face with his left hand, unable to use his right hand. "You're crying." "I'm exhausted." She shook her head, holding his hand. "They're here, Scully," he laughed suddenly, on the verge of sheer hysterics. "Look, they're right behind you." "Who?" She asked numbly. "Them; the ones who lived here. This really is a ghost town, Scully." She understood what he was trying to say. "No, Mulder," she replied calmly. "They're just visions you have from the fever and the infection. You're very sick." "So are you." "I'm fine." "No, I can tell. You're sick too. Like me. You're coughing." She paled, knowing now that the cough was the onset of worse things. She felt a shiver run down her spine. She had to keep it all together or they would not see another day. Mulder had never needed her so badly. "Let's get you back in the house." "Don't wanna go. Wanna lie down." "We can't stay here. Help is on the way, Mulder. There was someone here: a sheriff's deputy. He's helping us." "He's the one who shot me." "He didn't understand. We'll be alright soon." Mulder laughed hysterically. "Great!" She smiled nervously. "I know. Come on." She didn't know how she got him back inside the house. It took forever and more. And she felt her strength deteriorating as he leaned heavily into her, taking away some of the vitality she still had left inside of her. She too was feeling the onset of illness, accepting what this would do to them. If she followed Mulder's pattern, she would go stir crazy too, wanting to kill them both. Mulder refused to go back into the bedroom, so she took him to the living room where he sunk down onto the couch. She removed his shoes and shirt. She turned on the television set, hoping that would calm him down. As he stared at the set, she took the time to clean the wound and bandage it properly. He did not seem to care and paid no attention to her moves. If he were in pain, he would not say. To her shock, she noticed several dark spots on his torso and arms. No doubt he had them on his back and legs too. The next phase of the illness had set in. Suddenly he did look at her, grabbing her attention. "You have to remove everything," he spoke hoarsely. "All weapons. Throw them out or we're dead." She looked into his eyes. "Do you still want to die?" "More than anything." "You wouldn't kill me." "Yes, I would," he groaned. "Help is on the way." "Is it really?" "Yes, Mulder. You have to believe that. The CDC will know what to do. I have the original vial and a syringe that had antidote in it." "It will be too late, Scully. For me, at least," he added softly. "For me it's nearly over." "You don't know that." "I do know it. I'm weakening, Scully. I can feel it. It's like everything I am is being sucked right out of me. It's a horrible feeling. I can't fight it. I don't want to." She felt tears jump in her eyes again. How could he say something like that when help was nearly there? But she understood so well. He was not a quitter. He warned her now, begging her to help him. "I'll be right back." Scully's body tensed up as she returned outside to fetch her gun where they had left it. Inside the house, she removed all the kitchen knifes and anything that could serve as a weapon and threw them into the master bedroom where she had left Brandt's body for autopsy. She found Mulder's gun and jacket in the spare bedroom and left them with Brandt was well. Convinced she had removed all utilities that would help them to commit suicide, she locked the master bedroom and threw the key inside their rental car, locking the doors from the inside. She had already locked up all the other houses earlier. If needs be, she would tie Mulder up until the urges passed, she swore. With that thought in mind, she returned to the house. The second she set a foot inside, she felt something hard strike her in the back of the head. She landed straight forward, flat on her belly inside the small hallway. IV Mulder beamed the flashlight he had used as a weapon down on his partner's body, shocked at what he had just done. Then he dropped it, stepped over his partner's body and stumbled outside, into the daylight. He knew help was not coming. He could feel it in his bones. It was taking too long. They were on their own and he was going to put an end to it. The ghosts aided him. They supported his decision. He walked through the spirits and searched the house for his gun, leaving Scully in the hallway. He knew she had thrown everything in the master bedroom and rattled with the door, trying to open it. It wouldn't budge. "Damn it." Drops of sweat poured down his face as he used every bit of strength in him to bust open the door, but it would not give in. He hurt his right arm badly in his efforts to do anything. Suddenly it did give in. He felt the door crash under his weight and fell forward, nearly stumbling inside the room. The guns lay on the bed, close to Brandt's now-covered body. The little girl stood by them, waiting for him to pick one up and end it. He tried to reach it and fell flat on his face as Scully struck him hard in the neck, using the same flashlight he had used on her. Without a kick he dropped down. "Not again," Scully groaned, holding her hand against the back of her head. V Scully's adrenaline gave her the force she needed to drag her partner back into the living room. He had busted the bedroom door and she barricaded it shoving a drawer from the spare room against the door. She was growing rapidly tired and knew she would have to move fast. She would not have a lot of time left before she became too ill to do anything else but rest. The rush she thrived on right now would soon be gone. Mulder stirred as she pulled him by the legs into the living room. She was ready to give him another kick if that would save his life. Hell, she had shot him once. She would do it again. She had him turned on his back and wrapped his wrists into another piece of rope she found in the garage, making sure she did not damage the gunshot wound any further. "Good thing you've got a hard head," she heaved, leaving her partner lying on the carpet. She felt dizzy and had to sit down to catch her breath. The cough became stronger. Her head spun, making her stand unsteady on her feet. But she would not rest. She was all there was left to keep Mulder's sanity together. But what if she became like him? What if she too would want to end it all? What then? "Please hurry," she spoke out loud, praying that the deputy would return soon with the cavalry. She closed her eyes and felt herself sink into oblivion. VI The debris scattered all over the highway put traffic in the direction of Los Angeles to a full stop. Over a distance of three miles, all vehicles and their passengers had to wait patiently until the police removed at least some of the scattered pieces. After the right lane was cleared and traffic started to move again, the other deputies from the sheriff's department started cleaning up the mess. The sheriff was there, shaking his head as he identified his deputy. "Freak accident," one of his co-workers said. "They said Danny lost control over the steering wheel. Several witnesses confirmed this." "He was one of the best drivers I knew. Something must have distracted him." The sheriff was not exactly pleased with the situation. "Make sure everything's cleaned up. I'm heading back to the station." "Sheriff!" A female deputy picked something up from the concrete. Sheriff Lane walked over and frowned as he saw a plastic bag with an FBI-badge in it. "FBI?" he asked confused. "What the hell is that thing doing here?" "I don't know. Do you think Danny had it on him?" "Could have been lying around here for some time. Why would Danny be carrying this with him?" "Beats me. Why would any FBI-agent leave his badge?" "Let's find that out." The sheriff took the plastic bag and stepped into his vehicle. He had a friend working at the FBI. It wouldn't be too difficult finding out whose badge it was, and why it was lying around in this desolate area. VII The soft playing of the television was the first thing Scully became aware of as her mind forced her to return to the land of the living. She had trouble figuring out the why's and how's, wondering why she felt so damned uncomfortable lying where she lay. "Scully. Scully!" "Yeah." She responded automatically to Mulder's voice before figuring out why she felt like crap. She opened her eyes and found her partner lying on the carpet, only a few inches away from her. His hands were tied before him and she rolled on her side, wondering when and how that happened. Then she remembered she had done the tying up herself. Automatically she crawled backwards, out of her partner's possible grip. But there she was: lying on the floor. He could have killed her, even with tied wrists. If he really had wanted to, he would have been able to free himself. "Scully, it's me," he whispered gently, looking clear into her eyes. She hesitated, ordering her feverish mind to calm down. If he truly were back, sane and safe, she would soon notice. "I don't know -" she mumbled, moving up. Why did she feel so hot? She wanted to throw off her clothes and go skinny-dipping in the nearest pool. The house's air-conditioning barely seemed to function. "Scully, I'm back." His voice sounded convincing. "Believe me, it's really me. I don't know what you did to me but it worked. I'm okay. I'm feeling better." Then his voice died away as he came to realize something. Scully watched her partner turn on his back and stare at the ceiling. "Brandt told me this would happen. I would feel fine for a while before - before the end. This must be it." Scully came closer, keeping up her guard. "You are feeling better?" "Yeah." He turned to look at her again, still lying down. "Look into my eyes." She did as he asked her, touching his face. The high fever seemed to have lowered. He was still warm but not as much as he had been. His eyes were clear and honest. He was back. Quickly she untied his wrists, pulling him up carefully by his left hand. He groaned. She waited for a second. He was the one grasping her, taking her in an embrace. She felt her body being pulled closer to his. Relief surged through her as she clasped onto him. "My god." Tears flooded down her cheeks, sending her to near-hysterics. "I thought -" "I'm so sorry," he whispered, holding her tight as the memories forced him into guilt. "I didn't know what I did." "I know. You don't have to apologize. It wasn't you." "Thank you for saving me." "I'm so glad." She clung into him, surviving onto his strength. He was the stronger one now, embracing her so that she could lean into him. He could feel her extreme body heat. She was on the verge of burning up as high fevers held her in their grip. She held on him, releasing her grip. "Mulder -" He helped her up, forcing her to lie down. His entire body ached like hell, but she needed him badly. If it was the last thing he did, he would save her. If it was too late for him, at least she would be able to survive. He had a few hours of sanity left in him, enough to find someone for her. He remembered what she had done for him, fetching wet towels to cool the fever down. "I'll be right back," he whispered, stroking her face. Her feverish eyes barely saw him. His feverish eyes tried to get her to focus but she would not respond. Within a few moments he was back, covering her clothed body with wet towels. She stirred. "It's okay," he soothed her. "Just let me help you." Waves of dizziness struck him hard as he sat by his partner's side and watched her sleep. She did not seem to suffer as badly as he had from the fevers, but he knew the worst was still to come. He remembered it all: how he had threatened to kill his partner and himself, how he had struck her to find his gun eagerly. He had known what he was doing, despite the fact it was not him doing it. And he still saw the ghosts. They were in the living room, taunting him. Soon Scully would see them too, if she allowed her mind to go nuts. He prayed that she did not have to go through that stage, but instinctively he knew that she would. It was nearing four in the afternoon. They had been infected since little after two in the morning. He had already gone through most of the stages of the illness. Any time now he could drop dead like the highway man had done. It was a frightening thought. He had to stay calm, to take deep breaths and relax, hoping it would prolong his chances. But what chances did they still have? What was left to do, really? It was so easy now to sit and wait. Just wait. Just hope that someone, somehow, would know. Would find out how and why. VIII "My agents are missing," Assistant-Director Skinner informed Sheriff Lane, finally able to reach someone who knew about the FBI-agent whose name and photo were on the ID found on the highway. "They were supposed to arrive to LA early this morning but never showed up. I've been trying to reach Agent Mulder for the past hours." "What was he doing here?" Lane asked. "They were driving from Green Town to LA. If something happened on the way, it must have happened near the site where your deputy died. Do you have any idea where he came from, or what was he doing?" "The last time he checked in was about an hour before he died," Lane explained. "He mentioned going into Nome to check something out. I'm sending some guys there as we speak." "Nome?" "A small town, population less than twenty-five people." "If my agents are there, something must have happened. Keep me informed. I'll be on the first flight to Vegas if needs be." "Okay." Sheriff Lane hung up the phone; surprised by the Assistant-Director's insistence that something must have happened. His buddy at the FBI working from the Vegas office had needed little effort tracking down the agent's office in DC. It had been more difficult to find someone who knew more though. "It seems that your FBI-man has a strange rep," his friend had explained. "He works in the basement or something on weird cases." "What kind of cases?" "Paranormal stuff. Alien abductions and all that." Sheriff Lane could not help but feel a strange urge to warn his deputies driving into Nome to act with caution. He sat down biting his fingernails, staring at the picture on the ID. The FBI had been in his town and he hadn't even known about it. They had acted out of the Vegas field office and solved a case right under his nose. And he did not know. That unnerved him even more. At exactly the same time, two deputies from the Green Town station approached the abandoned town of Nome. The eerie silence immediately startled them. Nome was small but had always been vivid. Now there was no sign of playing children, or activity in Ben's Garage. The cars were standing there as if they had been there for days. Michael, the male deputy, instinctively reached for his gun and kept it at arm's length as he scanned the parked cars. He instantly spotted a brand new rental car, standing out. He winked at his female colleague Anne and moved towards the first house to find it locked. The second one was locked too. The third one was open. He pushed against the door, startled as a man came swaying out of the living room and leaned heavily against the doorpost. "Are you Agent Mulder?" Michael asked nervously and ready to react. "Yes. Don't come any closer. Where's the CDC?" "The CDC?" Anne asked behind her colleague, instantly warned by the agent's ill-stricken face. "Yeah. Your colleague was warning them. Where are they? Don't come near me, please." "Are you sick, sir?" Michael asked, trying to glare inside the house. "Yes, and my partner too. Where is your colleague?" "Dead, sir." Mulder's eyes locked with the woman's. "We are dying," he spoke quietly. "All the others are dead. You need to get help now. It might already be too late for me, but Scully still has a chance. This is a test site. We were casualties of a test for some sort of bacterial infection. You have got to help her." Michael managed to glance at Scully lying on the couch and suddenly understood the gravity of the situation. "We'll come back." He turned, grasping Anne's arm firmly. Mulder shut the door of their voluntary trap and watched the deputies argue through the window. Soon after that, the woman got into the car and drove off. The man stayed put outside. He looked at Mulder with sympathy in the eyes. Mulder understood he was standing guard. The agent nodded in gratitude. He turned to find Scully's eyes open. "We're getting help," he spoke relieved. "We're finally getting someone here, Scully." She stared back at him unseeing. The fever was at his highest peak. Soon, she too would see the ghosts. And he wanted to do anything to avoid that. Anything. IX It took all the efforts Mulder could make to help his partner through her feverish dreams. She was in and out of it, but slowly improving. The high temperature endangering her had thankfully been avoided. She was not reaching the peak he had been through and he had hopes now that she would be able to escape delirium. In her highest fever she asked him why he was still holding on. He did not reply. The period of lucidity he was experiencing now was slowly coming to an end. Every move made it more difficult for him to continue. He wanted to take it easy, to rest and to keep up his strength, but she claimed his full attention. He needed to take care of her like she had done for him. He still saw the ghosts. They continued to taunt him, telling him it was no use. He shut them out of his mind but it was difficult watching TV during Scully's sleep with them blocking the view. Eventually he stumbled out of the house, escaping the dreary feeling in there for a few minutes. He needed to ask the deputy what was happening. Michael Anderson watched him and asked him politely not to come any closer. Mulder nodded, remaining on the porch. "How are you?" Michael asked worried. "I'm fine. Thanks for sticking around. You are a moral support." "Help should be here soon, I promise." "It won't do me much good, I'm afraid," Mulder smiled wearily, rubbing his eyelids. "But thanks anyway. I'm sorry to hear about your colleague." "Yeah. Good thing we found your badge." "Did he die trying to help us?" "I think so. We don't know." Michael sat down on the hood of the rental car and crossed his arms. "You said earlier that this was a test site. What did you mean by that?" "We stumbled into this. All we know is that someone is testing a virus of some sort." "I don't understand. Who would want to do this?" "I don't know. Those who want to protect this country the wrong way." "I don't understand," Michael spoke confused. All he had seen during his ten years as a deputy were the occasional murders, robberies and accidents. This was brand new to him. "I've seen so much," Mulder spoke softly, shaking his head at the memories. "I've seen too much not to believe that there are people inside our government wanting to destroy everything for the sake of mankind. They don't care who they hurt." "Are you saying our own government is testing this town?" Mulder nodded calmly. "I refuse to believe that this could be true-" Mulder shrugged. "I've heard that many times before." The agent sat down on the porch feeling tired. It took too long. The wait was killing him. Literally. "I have to go back," he spoke wearily, finally moving up after moments of silence. "Hold on, sir," the deputy urged. "They'll be here soon. It can't be long now." "I hope so," Mulder whispered, feeling so very tired as he returned inside where Scully lay peacefully asleep. X "Cute," Mulder mumbled as a Simpsons rerun made him smile. "Yeah," he heard Scully say behind him. He turned slowly to find her awake and alert. She smiled at him. He switched on a light and touched her skin. She seemed relatively fine. She wasn't delirious or acting strangely. The fever had gone slightly down. "How are you feeling?" "Better." "I'm glad." He fetched her a glass of water and two Tylenols. She took them; they were the last ones they had. "Still nothing?" she asked, moving up wearily. "They're getting help but I'm getting the feeling the CDC's not really in a hurry. We've got a friend waiting outside." She sat. "I really am feeling better." "Good. It looks like you escaped the hell of dreams." "You look like shit." "Thanks." "How are you doing, Mulder?" "Bad," he admitted. She rubbed her eyes, trying to concentrate on what he was saying. He sat there with a strange smile on his face. One she could not understand. He moved away from her, sitting relaxed. "It's over for me, Scully," he whispered calmly, sitting with his back against the couch. She could not see the peaceful expression on his face. She could not know that he was content with his fate; that he had accepted it while she was asleep. He'd had plenty of time to consider his options and had chosen to accept the worst. It greatest gratitude was the fact that Scully would live. If he had a choice, he would always choose it this way. "Don't say that," she begged strongly. "It's true. I can feel it. I've got nothing left in me." "Mulder, they will be here soon. Not much longer now. You can do this. You've done it before." He smiled. "I love you, Scully. I know I don't say it enough but you are the best thing that ever happened to me." Tears sprung in her eyes. "You asked me not to talk like this before. Don't you start now. It's not over yet." "Yes, it is." "No." She took him in her arms with his back leaned against her and rocked him as if he were a child. "I won't let you go." They held on for minutes, listening to the silence. XI Mulder felt strangely comforted by the thought that his partner would hopefully survive this ordeal. She had some hours left. They would be able to help her, if they found out what was killing them. At least one of them would be able to let the world know what had happened here. To find the truth. She would seek revenge for his death. He accepted his fate. He had not known what it was like to die, but now he was experiencing it vividly. He could see the ghosts waiting for him. They were at peace, as he soon would be. "If I had a second chance, I wouldn't change a thing," he spoke quietly. He was now lying on the couch again, holding her against him. She rested perfectly in his arms, fitting into his grip like a hand in a glove. "I wouldn't either," she replied, holding her head against his chest. She wanted to hear his heartbeat, to feel his breath under her. That way alone she could be sure he was still alive. His hand rested on her hair, stroking her locks. "It's quiet out here, Scully. Oh so quiet." "I know." "Strange isn't it, that we have been here for less than a day? It seems like forever to me." "Yeah," she replied dreamily. "I thought we be would here for eternity." "Do you think Skinner will notice we're gone?" "He'll miss us." "You'll still work for him." "Not without you. I won't do a single thing without you." Their warm bodies clung together. His hand stopped stroking her hair. She could feel the grip loosen. "Mulder?" She moved up horrified. His face was turned sideways, towards her. His eyes were closed. She placed her hand on his chest, no longer feeling the heartbeat. "No. Oh god, no." He stopped breathing as she watched. Tears flooded in her eyes, this time without an ounce of restraint left. "No, Mulder," she shrieked, shaking him. "No! Stay with me. Mulder, don't give up now! They're here! I can here them coming. Mulder, they're here!" He did not respond. Scully shoved his body lower, threw the pillow underneath his head away, moved his face up to clear his airways and started CPR. His heart had finally given up. The doctor in her fought hard against her emotional side, knowing that she would lose in the end. XII Slowly, several unmarked white vehicles approached the ghost town of Nome. Deputy Michael Anderson watched them come, filled with joy that they were finally there. He ran towards the house, tapped on the living room window and shouted, "They're here! They're here!" He did not get a response. XIII The door was pushed open. Scully barely noticed the men clad in quarantine suits who entered the room and pulled her aside, away from her partner's unmoving body. She struggled against their firm grips, trying to get back to Mulder, who lay motionless on the couch. "We are infected with an unknown biological agent," she groaned. "You have to find a way to help him." They did not listen to her. The CDC-men moved his body onto the ground and started CPR again, injecting him with a yellow fluid Scully did not recognize. Another injecting followed, shoved directly into his heart. Scully stared in awe at the men helping her partner until a syringe entered her skin. She winced and looked aside to find one of her captors emptying a similar syringe into her arm. Before she could even say anything, she sunk into unconsciousness, held by two men. She would have slumped forward had they not lifted her up. Her body was moved onto a gurney and strapped tight. One of the doctors put a tube in her throat, attaching it to a mobile oxygen unit. An IV was started, dripping the same fluid constantly into her arm. More injections followed. Two helicopters arrived. Scully was moved into the first one, strapped and sealed within less than thirty seconds. The chopper took off within a minute of landing. The second one waited while the others worked on Mulder. Deputy Michael watched impatiently until the second gurney was brought outside. Convinced the agent was already dead, he felt frustrated that he had not been able to do anything. "He's back," Michael heard one of the men say as the gurney was carried outside. "It's touch and go. Keep the fluids dripping rapidly. His throat is nearly closed. We've got him on oxygen." The deputy followed the gurney to the helicopter, hoping to catch a glimpse of Mulder. All he could see was the tube and the agent's pale face. He was pushed backwards and stared into the eyes of a graying man. "You will have to come with me," the man ordered, pulling the deputy by the arm towards one of the white vehicles. Michael obeyed, realizing he too would have to undergo quarantine for as long as it took them to figure out what this thing was. However, he found it strange that they knew exactly what to do. Only half an hour ago, Mulder had told him he didn't know what this pathogen was. As the second chopper took off and he was pushed inside the van, Michael noticed how an army of CDC men stomped through all the houses, carrying out the bodies in quarantine-containers. XIV Assistant-Director Skinner rushed through the doors that lead to the quarantine area after having threatened just about anybody to get in. It took him more than an hour to get access. Finally he was allowed into the CDC-contained area with its own ICU and private rooms. A gray-haired doctor approached him as he stomped through the white hallway. "I'm Dr. Black." "Where are my agents?" the AD demanded to know, frustrated that no one had told him the truth so far. All he had been hearing on his way from DC to LA, was that his agents had been found and had been exposed to some sort of infection. "They're here," the doctor explained, calming him down. "Agent Scully is just fine. She's been treated with heavy antibiotics and is responding as good as can be expected. She was not in the final stages of the infection yet so we were able to get her back quickly." "And Mulder?" "He's suffered much worse, I'm afraid. When we reached your agents, his heart had stopped. His partner was performing CPR. We took over and instantly started a large dosage of uncommon antibiotics to fight off a multi-resistant strain. We gave him a shock treatment, so to speak. He responded but he is still not out of the woods. His body is very weak. We're trying everything we can to help him, but we are fighting the forces of human nature here. We can only do him so much." "Are you saying he might die?" "Yes. It all depends on his will to survive now, and the strength of his body." "I see," Skinner frowned, depressed by the news. Mulder had been in peril before and always pulled through. But he had no idea what had happened to his agents. He hadn't found anyone to tell him the full story yet. "Come with me," Dr. Black proposed. "I'll take you to them." As they proceeded through the corridor, Skinner continued his questioning. "What is it they were exposed to, doctor?" "The Bubonic Plague." "The Plague?" Skinner asked startled. "Yes, or at least a form of it. We found traces of the bacteria Yersinia Pestis in their system, starting the infection. Blood tests have shown that our first, immediate findings were right. We started treating them accordingly, following standard procedure. Don't worry, it can be beaten." "How? How could this happen in this country?" "We don't know yet, sir." Dr. Black showed Skinner into an ICU-unit where several men and women, clad in whites, aided a very pale-looking Scully lying in a hospital bed. Several wires were attached to her body. Two IV's ran into her arms, dripping fluids at a constant rate. She had an oxygen mask over her nose and mouth. Skinner saw a few dark spots on her arms but they seemed to have faded away. "Scully." He grasped her hand, hoping she would react. She did not grip back. "We keep her artificially asleep," Dr. Black explained. "Her body needs to rest. She's been through a lot." A second unit held Mulder who clearly had suffered worse. He was even paler than his partner and had a tube down his throat breathing for him. Machines proved he was still alive, but nothing showed that he truly was. He could have been brain dead. Only the same IV's Scully had proved he was being treated as if he still stood a chance. "We'll soon know how he is responding," Dr. Black explained. "The next few hours will be touch and go." "Is there anything I can do?" "Stay here and calm Agent Scully down. When she is alert, she refuses to believe her partner is here too. She thinks he's dead and won't go back to sleep. Another reason why we had to sedate her." Skinner smiled. "That sounds like her alright." "Let me get you a chair." Skinner couldn't keep his eyes off Mulder's still form, realizing all too well how close to death his agent was. If only someone had found out sooner. If only someone had noticed something wrong earlier. If only - But no one had known, leaving the agents alone in their despair and loneliness. That made the situation worse. Skinner could only imagine what they had gone through, trapped voluntarily in a ghost town. He had spoken to Deputy Michael Anderson on the phone. The sheriff's aid was being held in quarantine in a Vegas hospital. They had not brought him here, which Skinner found strange but acceptable. Anderson had not been ill; it was just a safety precaution. The same had been done to the female deputy who had gone for help. If only that first deputy had not crashed his car. Dr. Black placed a chair by Scully's bedside, explaining that Mulder wouldn't notice if he were there. Scully needed someone by her side more than her partner did right now. Skinner nodded, took a seat and was left alone at his agent's bedside. Then the long wait started. Skinner wondered how many times he had been there before, and how much more it would take to kill any of his two agents. He did not want to see that happen. He sighed and held onto Scully's petite hand. XV Finally she stirred. Her hand moved, waking Skinner up from his shallow stupor. He looked up, interlocking with Scully's anxious glance instantly. She moved her other hand to the oxygen mask on her face, pushing it aside. "Mulder?" Skinner moved up, making sure she saw and recognized him. "It's okay, Scully. You're in a hospital." She blinked her eyelids, taking Skinner's first denial to talk about Mulder as a clue her partner was dead. Instantly she stirred, pushing her body up against the pillows. "No, Mulder -" "Scully, listen to me." "He's dead!" Her shriek alarmed the hospital staff. Skinner gently cupped Scully's face in his large hands and urged her to look at him. "Mulder is alive," he spoke firmly. "He is in this hospital. He's alive, Scully." Only now did she seem to understand. She slumped back into the cushions, her body tired with exhaustion. "Alive?" "Yeah. Look." A nurse pulled aside the curtain hiding Mulder's still form from her sight. He was still on the machines and out of it, but alive. She could tell. She relaxed a bit, nodding. "You will both be fine," Skinner told her firmly, "but you need to rest. Can you do that for me?" "Yeah." She sighed. Skinner felt an urge to protect the small woman from the outside world. In hospital clothing and sick as she had been, she seemed too vulnerable to be an FBI-agent. How could she survive all she had already been through and still be a normal woman? He was jealous of the bond she had with her partner. Jealous because they shared something he'd never had. "That's good," he soothed her as she allowed the nursing staff to help her. "The virus," she mumbled. "They know about it, Scully. It's contained." "What was it?" she asked before falling asleep. She did not hear his response. XVI Mulder's body instinctively fought against the tube stuck down his throat. His first reaction was to struggle against it and to force the unnatural enemy out of him. "Mulder, you're in a hospital. The tube helps you breath. Don't fight it." The agent blinked, recognizing the one voice he needed to hear. Scully's beautiful blue eyes smiled reassuringly at him. Her hand stroked his face. "That's it," she whispered soothingly, "take it easy." His body kept on struggling against the tube. "Can we take it out now?" Scully desperately asked the doctor. "He doesn't like these things." "We can try. He seems strong enough to breath on his own." Aided by a nurse, Dr. Black pulled the tube out of Mulder's throat, sending the agent into a serious bout of cough. Scully watched, holding her partner's hand. Over the past hours the antibiotics had run their course through her system, restoring her strength swiftly. But until now she had not received a single response to any of her questions about the infection and treatment they had received, pushing her alarm buttons. Skinner had never left her side since she first saw him. And as soon as she heard her partner waking up, she had insisted on being by his side. Skinner kept a close eye on her, ready to catch her should she collapse. She did not plan to. "Don't use your strength trying to talk," Scully whispered, calming her partner with her mere presence. "Just rest now. We'll talk later." Dr. Black seemed happy with Mulder's improvement, checking his vitals and the charts. "It seems that the worst is over," he told Skinner. "Your agents will be fine." "Thank you, doctor." Scully shared a glance with Skinner, eager to tell him the full story. She wasn't so sure she should be thanking the CDC for their recovery. She was wondering how they knew so well how to treat them. But that was not important now. Mulder was back. And she could only be thankful. XVII Skinner listened with a frown on his face as the agents told their story. Mulder, talking for the first time after a night of fitful sleep was feeling well enough to tell his side of it. Scully had already told her boss everything the day before. Skinner did not know what to say. "The CDC is a bitch to investigate," he explained. "They will never allow us to do so. Their power stretches way beyond the FBI's. If I were to tell anyone what you are telling me now, they would have my badge or worse." "Are you saying we can't prove anything?" Scully asked in anger. "You told us that Nome has been completely cleared out. The houses have been burned to the ground. The bodies are gone. Nobody seems to know where they are. Why did they even bother saving us in the first place?" "Scully, you don't know if the CDC did those tests. You don't know if they didn't run into a big streak of luck saving your asses. I only have your story to tell and it's not enough. You were both very sick. By your own admission, Mulder was delirious and seeing ghosts." "You don't believe we dreamt the whole thing, do you?" "Not at all. I'm just telling you that there is nothing left to prove you were infected with an unknown pathogen." "You have our blood work. There must be proof in there." "I saw the blood work, Scully. And all I saw were signs of the Bubonic Plague, just like Dr. Black said. It could have been that." "This thing was much more aggressive. It tore us apart in less than a day, sir." "Then it was a mutated version of the plague. I don't know, Scully. How can you be so sure that it wasn't?" "John Brandt told me it wasn't," Mulder spoke softly from his bed. "Yeah, John Brandt." Skinner sighed. "You have one man who - by his own claims - was responsible for bringing this infection into Nome. And you believe him?" "He had no reason to lie," Mulder whispered wearily. Skinner moved up and away from them. "I can't investigate this." "Are you such a coward, sir?" Scully asked angrily. "You know why. I don't have to explain my reasons to you, Scully. If you could think straight, you would know what this could mean. You are standing against a brick wall." "Fine then," Scully groaned. "Then just wait until the first casualties of war fall upon us. You'll be responsible for it." "I'm not responsible for anything," Skinner responded sharply. "You were at the wrong place at the wrong time. Be glad that you are here. I am grateful and relieved that you are. But don't go chasing ghosts. It has no use." Scully opened her mouth to object but it was Mulder who stopped her. "He is right," her partner spoke hoarsely, grasping her hand before she could attack Skinner verbally again. "There's no point in chasing ghosts, no pun intended." She turned to him. "Mulder -" "Scully, we both know everything is gone. They would have cleaned the place up after we were taken away. They couldn't afford to let us die: it would have alarmed the Bureau and demanded an investigation. For once our badges might have saved us." "I can't believe you are willing to let this one go." "We had better devote our energy in pursuing cases we can win. We know what happened. For now that's enough." Mulder's eyes found Skinner's, who nodded in gratitude. "Fight the good fight, right?" Mulder spoke softly. "Yeah." Epilogue Mulder was not really surprised to find his partner knocking on his door. Skinner had dropped both of them off during the afternoon at their respective apartments. Scully had been tense and cool at both of them, but her partner knew the time would come to discuss matters. That time was now. "I still cannot believe you would give up the fight," she said, shaking her head as she walked past him. Mulder was still weak but recuperating day-by-day, grateful for every moment he had. Ever since Nome, he'd suffered from nightmares where ghosts forced him to stay trapped inside a house. The dreams would pass some day. "Scully, I want to fight the fight, but only one that we stand a chance of winning." "So you'll just ignore what happened?" "No, I won't. We will figure this one out some day, but now is not the time. It is fairly obvious that the CDC knew what happened there. They aided us swiftly, using those means we needed to survive. They saved my life, Scully. I cannot ignore that. I am grateful for what they did, even if they did it for themselves." "Is that what this is about? Gratitude?" "No." He shook his head, asking her to sit down. She was a fighter, and not a quitter. He loved her for her fierce responses and remarks, despite the fact they often did not see things eye to eye. "Then what is this, Mulder?" "Call it self-preservation. This virus will show up again, and when it does, we will be there. We will fight it. I promise you that. You told me some time ago that we should never stop looking for the truth. This is another truth we need to find out; one that I need your help with. But today, right now, is not the time. Can't you understand that?" She nodded, calmed down. "Just promise me you will never quit fighting, Mulder." He moved closer. "I promise." She laughed as he approached her. "I do remember a promise you made too." "Oh?" she asked quasi-innocently. "Which one?" "It had something to do with snow-covered cabins." "If I remember it correctly, you made a promise too." "Did I?" He frowned, placing his hand against his chin in a mocking gesture. "Yes, you did." She moved in closer, touching his lips carefully. Her eyes closed as she relished the moment. She pulled away and left with a big smile. For the first time in his life, Mulder was stunned. And he absolutely adored it. The End |