:: Tales Of The Resistance ::Part Nine Clayton Webb stared out the passenger window of General Fielding’s huge four-door truck. "At least it has a rigid cover and you can lock it in case you have to hit more than one store." Fielding said as he handed Galindez the keys. Webb snarled a bitter, "Terrific," as the Humvee and the other pickup truck carrying Rabb and Mulder and the ‘hijack’ squad pulled out. Susan and Francesca climbed into the back seat, leaving him the shotgun spot. He and Galindez had never really gotten along. Before tonight, it had never really bothered either of them. "Come on Webb," Galindez joked. "We need this stuff. Think of how many people the blankets will keep warm." "Yeah," Webb shot back. " ‘Pick up some Huggies!’ Dana actually said pick up some Huggies!" Ling sighed. "Give it a rest, would you Webb. Trust me, you’ll be glad you picked up the damn things." "Do me a favor, Agent Ling?" Webb shot back. "Yes, Mr. Webb?" Her voice dripped saccharine. "When we are all old and gray and the young lions want to know what the early days of the war were like, would you not mention this little episode?" "Sheesh! I can’t believe you are being such a ba…" "Please! Both of you!" Francesca reached up and clutched at his shoulder. "Clayton, stop now. We do what needs to be done. You can go and try and get killed another day. Essere calmo." He touched her hand with his, holding it to his cheek for a moment. "Okay, Francesca. Sorry, Ling." "Susan." The agent sighed. Webb didn’t respond but leaned back into the headrest. Francesca trailed her fingers along his chin as she sat back. He closed his eyes and tried to sort it all out. It was impossible. He had told her he didn’t remember much of the wild ride from McLean to Clews Haven as he lay dying in her arms. But he did. He remembered her every gentle entreaty, every urgent threat, every whispered prayer. It was insane. He barely knew her. He saw the way Galindez’s eyes followed her. Was it love? Or did the Marine feel a sense of responsibility and guilt over her father? Damn, he was too old for this shit! Too old for her. She was what? Twenty-six? Twenty-seven at the most. He was forty-two for God’s sake. AJ would kill him - if AJ made it back. Webb hoped he would make it back. They needed AJ. Needed Mac too. They drove down the state highway looking for signs of other towns, towns big enough to have a Walmart or K-Mart or some damn kind of Mart. They passed one and kept right on going. It was 10:00 at night now and they were three hours away from Clews Haven and the damn store was packed like it was the Saturday before Christmas. "Damn!" Galindez muttered. "What made us think we were the only ones who could read the signs of coming destruction?" Webb looked over at him and shook his head. "Well Toblin made his first radio broadcast. It doesn’t take a political science major to understand all hell is going to break loose. Even if he didn’t say a thing about the damn aliens, he essentially called the Vice-president a liar, a traitor and a murderer. You think the masses are just going to sit back and wait?" They drove until they were in North Carolina and suddenly Ling sat up and pointed. "For Pete’s sake!" It was without a doubt as weird a thing as they had seen so far. The snow just stopped. Oh, none had fallen for the past 100 miles or so, but it was still piled high on the road. The trucks and SUVs heavy enough, with big enough tires, still crunched through it but they saw countless cars off to the side. A few people were even trudging away from the abandoned vehicles. No. The snow stopped completely. Zip. Nothing. As they crossed onto dry payment, the four exchanged nervous glances. Webb carefully lowered his window and where there had been a damp chill, now there was only warm humidity. Galindez whistled the theme to the Twilight Zone and stared ahead. After several more miles, he called out. "What’s that sign?" Ling leaned over the seat and read the weathered sign, "Gandolin Walmart, 10 miles." "Oh hell. Might as well just go there, get in line and pray there’s some damn Huggies left." Webb sighed. They turned off into the small town. Even with the deep snow, traffic south had been heavy. Here, where travel was unimpeded by anything but the scent of late fall, traffic was almost non-existent. Susan giggled nervously, "Maybe we should call in and tell them to move down here." She got no response. They pulled into the nearly deserted parking lot. The bright lights cast almost no shadows except their own as they walked to the front doors. Clay carefully felt for the Sig Sauer that Skinner had given him. Galindez fingered the .45 he had carried since they left McLean. The Muzak from the speakers seemed too loud, and the lights too bright. Clay quickly scanned the store and spotted one cashier who seemed oblivious to their presence. They saw no one else. "What the hell? It’s 11:00 at night but from what we’ve seen, this place should be packed. I don’t see anyone." The other three felt it too, though Galindez quietly asked. "Why are you whispering?" Webb just shook his head. Straightening up, he forced himself to speak in a more normal tone of voice. "Well, should we split up?" "No!" Francesca and Susan both cried. Francesca grabbed hold of Clay’s arm. Susan sternly reminded herself she was a ten-year veteran with the Secret Service and only moved a little closer to Galindez. "Why don’t you and Francesca take that end of the store?" Galindez pointed to the far eastern corner where a large sign proclaimed bedding. Right next to it, another announced infants. "I want to check out the tool section. They didn’t mention it, but I was thinking that we could use a couple of things over that way." "Yeah, whatever." Webb couldn’t figure out why he was so nervous. He saw no one except the cashier who hadn’t really moved much from her register. "Come on. Might as well grab two carts." Francesca nodded and quickly followed him. Galindez and Ling went in the opposite direction, both of them pushing the blue carts, both walking rather faster than was needed. "Hey, you want a soda?" Webb reached into a cooler case and pulled out two Cokes. "Thank you." she whispered. "I have never been in a place like this before. We don’t have them in Italy." "Well it’s a first for me, too. Hey, grab that toaster." "Why?" She picked up the box and put it in her cart. "I don’t know. We can probably use it. Doggett and the other Marines got food detail, maybe they’ll remember the bread." They went past cosmetics, pet supplies and several rows of laundry baskets. "You want a lamp?" "You joking with me aren’t you, Clayton?" Francesca giggled. "Yeah, I guess. I just don’t like all this quiet." His eyes never stopped searching and he shoved down the feeling of panic that was growing in his gut. Something wasn’t right. Suddenly his pocket squawked static and he cursed as he jumped. "Shit! What?" He snarled into the walkie-talkie Harriet had given them." "You think I should pick up some more of these things?" Galindez’s voice echoed through the speaker and somewhere to their left. "What things, damn it?" "More walkie-talkies. They got a sale on them. The batteries are here too." "Fine, yeah, great. Get twenty. Hey, you see anybody else over by you?" "No." Victor’s voiced dropped. "Not even a clerk." "Weird." Webb dropped the radio back in his pocket and leaving one cart in the main aisle, entered the narrow multi-colored alley. "Well, Francesca, make sure everything matches." She smiled wanly but began to pick up armfuls of thermal blankets, not caring what color they were. Webb worked the other side of the aisle and before they realized it they were near the center. They both turned and were placing their piles in the cart. Their eyes were level and their lips weren’t even an inch apart. She started to move a little closer when he jerked back and looked down at the end of the aisle. "What was that?" "What?" Her breathing was instantly labored. "What did you see?" "I don’t know. Hey! Is anybody there?" He practically shouted. "What the hell?" The radio chattered. "What’s wrong Webb?" "Shit! I don’t know. Are you almost done?" "Heck no. You get the damn diapers?" "No, but that’s next." He forced himself to push the cart to the end of the aisle. "Come on, let’s hurry down this aisle. Just grab some of those sheets." He pulled off a pile of towels from an end cap and dumped them on top of the blankets that pretty much filled the cart. Finally, they reached the brighter end and he motioned her to get her cart and walk next to him. The passed curtains and bath mats and Webb pulled more towels off another end cap. "There. There’s the baby stuff. Put some formula in the bottom of the cart and then let's find the damn things and get out of here." "Webb, you’re scaring me." Francesca whispered. Her eyes were bright with tears. "Hey." He stopped and put his arm around her waist. "I’m sorry." He kissed her nose and then turned back to his cart. "I’m just spooked by this place. It’s too weird for me." "Oh I don’t know, it seems very nice, everything all in one place. There. Down there are the diapers." She pointed down the aisle. The entire back wall was covered in brightly colored plastic bags. Webb licked his lips, took her cart from her and ordered. "Stay here. I’ll get them." He pushed the cart down the aisle. Stuffed animals and infant toys grinned down at him, the lights directly above flickered and every nerve in his body screamed ‘run’. "Francesca?" "Si, Clay?" "You see them?" "Who!" she gasped. "Victor and Susan?" he sighed. "Oh." She paused and he didn’t look back. "No, no one, Clay." He really thought someone would reach out and grab him, but the long aisle running the entire length of the store was empty. "Coward. Shit, you died two nights ago. What the hell are you afraid of?" He muttered as he pulled bag after bag of diapers off the shelf. "These better last." He turned back down the aisle where he could see her waiting. Dispelled of some of his feelings, he grabbed several stuffed animals and tossed them on top of the cart. Pulling out the radio, he called. "You about ready, Victor?" "Yeah. You see anybody?" "Not a soul." He motioned Francesca to move and as she did and he cleared the aisle she suddenly gasped. "What?" He looked up and found an old man standing there in the next aisle staring at them, his blue vest hung open and he was swaying slightly. "Hello?" Webb pulled Francesca behind him and pushed the carts away from the man who just stood there staring. It took a moment for Webb to notice his eyes. He could see no iris or pupil or white, only a swimming blackness. "Uhm…we’re just going to check out now. Francesca." She had already taken the other cart and was pushing it away, almost running. He kept up and not bothering to use the radio, yelled. "Victor! Get to the front door, now!" They met at the center aisle and Webb didn’t even bother to look at what had kept them. He was just glad they were all together again. Running now, they almost reached the door when an armed security guard stepped into their path. "We forgot to pay for these." Susan gritted between her teeth. "Look at his eyes." Webb commanded. "What the…?" Galindez whispered. "Clay." Francesca reached out and grabbed his arm. "Look. Il virgin benedetto li salva." She prayed as the cashier began to come toward them. Behind her, they could see several other people come out of a hallway and approach them. None of them made a sound. Webb pulled his gun out and pointed at the guard who had made no move to reach for his own gun. "Get out of the way." The guard didn’t move. "I will shoot you." "Jesus, don’t. The sons-of-bitches exploded into acid." Galindez backed off, as did Ling. "Step back. Leave the stuff." "Hell no!" Webb had not consciously encountered any alien except Smith, and from what Skinner surmised, the Tim Fawkes who had shot him. He raised his gun higher and stepping back, tripped over something. As he fell, his gun went off. He watched and waited for the green mist to envelope and kill him, but nothing happened except the face disintegrated into a bright red mass as the bullet past through the man’s head. Webb struggled to stand up when Francesca screamed and pointed. A black oily fluid seeped from under the man’s pant leg. At first, it seemed to puddle like so much black mercury, but as they watched, it congealed into one large mass and began to move away from the body and toward the still prone Webb. "Get out!" he ordered as he scuttled back. "Get her the hell out of here, Galindez." Strong arms lifted him up and Victor pulled him back. The women stood to one side, back to back, watching as more people began to approach them. "Jesus Christ, what the hell is this?" "I don’t know and I’m not sure we can get out." Galindez whispered. He nodded toward the door. A big burly man in a Sheriff’s uniform was stomping in the front door, his gun drawn, pointing it right at Webb. "Well, now. Ya’ll jess hold it right thare." Looking down, he studied the body before him, never noticing that the black oil had stopped its advance on Webb. "Damn, you bastards killed Abe." Straightening, he started to pull the trigger just as the black oil reached his shoe. He froze as it quickly made it’s way up his pant leg. Looking down in horror, he screamed in agony and dropped his gun. "Now!" Webb cried. Grabbing one of the carts that Galindez had piled with enough heavy tools to build a house, he shoved it into the sheriff pushing him out of the way. The other three followed suit and followed him out the door. None of them looked back until they reached the truck. Turning around, Webb swore. "Why the hell didn’t you just run?" They stood there, each with a cart full of stuff, only a few things littering the parking lot behind them. "Damn it, get this thing open." He slapped the back of the truck. "Just pile it in." He stood between them and the slowly approaching mob, now led by the Sheriff, still without his gun. Webb had no clue what they were or what had them, but the security guard had bled red and he didn’t want to kill another human, so he aimed for the sheriff’s kneecap. "Francesca, Susan, get in the truck." He placed another bullet in another knee and that person also silently crumpled though the shock of pain was easily read on his face. Next, he stopped a young woman, about Francesca’s age and it was starting to make him sick. They were less than 50 yards away now and Webb quickly looked over his shoulder. Galindez and Ling were throwing the last of the diapers in. Galindez yelled. "Susan, get in the truck and start it." She grabbed the keys, ran forward and climbed in the truck. "Clayton, please. Come now, you can shoot them from the truck. Please, Clayton." He backed up and dropped one more before he climbed up. "Leave what’s ever left." He felt the slam of the cover, barely registered Galindez running around him to climb into the passenger seat. "Shut the door, Webb." Susan ordered and was already pulling away from the mob as it latched. She sped out of the parking lot, looking frantically for any other vehicle. There were none. "Where the hell did all those people come from? Did they walk here? What was that damn stuff? Oh sweet Jesus, God in Heaven, what are we getting into here?" "Susan!" Victor leaned across the seat and rested his hand on her thigh. "Calm down. Just get us back on the highway and we can switch places." "No fucking way, mister. I’m not stopping until we reach Clews Haven!" Webb wasn’t even surprised to see the roadblock just before they reached the main road. It really wasn’t much of one though, and after yelling for them to strap in, Susan gunned the truck and barreled between the two cars. Bodies flew up in the air and one of the cars erupted into a ball of flame engulfing the falling people. Webb and Galindez had opened their windows to lay down covering gunfire if needed. The screams of agony seemed to rise above them and follow them out to the highway. They entered the flow of traffic heading north and didn’t even slow down until they hit the snow line. Francesca melted into his arms, sobbing in terror. He held her, placing comforting kisses in her hair. Victor turned to stare at them, but then shrugged and turned to look out the windshield. :: :: ::
Skinner’s eyes burned from lack of sleep. He slept about three hours the night before, though the interlude with Monica probably helped him sleep better. It was almost 3:00 AM and they had heard nothing – not a sound from Mulder and Rabb, no word from Webb and Galindez, and no broadcast response from Vice-president Winslow. He sat in one of the very uncomfortable chairs in the command center. Fielding sat across from him; his chin buried in his chest, the steady rise and fall announced that he had learned to sleep anywhere, even if Skinner couldn’t. Together, they had gently browbeat the President into sleeping, but the man refused to go upstairs. Instead, he sacked out on a cot in one of the cubicles, the First Lady in the one across from him. A gentle heady aroma assailed his senses and he sighed contentedly when a hand reached around him and put a steaming mug of fresh coffee down on the console. "Hi." Dana whispered. Eyeing Fielding carefully, she leaned against the console. "Thanks." he sighed as he sipped the hot brew. "Boy, I’m going to miss this." "You think we'll run out?" "Oh, we’ll manage to scrounge for a long while, but this is good stuff. It’s gonna get staler and staler the longer the war goes on. And even when we finally win, it will take a long time to get down to where someone cares about growing coffee again." "You do worry about the strangest things, Walter Skinner." Dana trailed her fingers across his smooth head. "You need to get some sleep." "I know, but I can’t. Not while they’re out there." "Walter, there will always be someone out there. Out there doing something dangerous or just downright insane. Go lie down. I’ll listen and I'll wake you as soon as I hear anything." "And what about you? Why aren’t you upstairs with your son?" She sighed. "He’s fine. He’s curled up in bed with mom. I’m glad there are other children for him to play with. Little Brian Antonelli is only two months older than he is. The other boys will have a grand time with Little AJ Roberts." "Yeah." He sighed, stood and stretched. "If they don’t find us." "They won’t, Walter. And if they do, we’ll manage." She touched his arm. "Come on." He shook his head. "No, that’s okay." He twisted his neck trying to work the kinks out. He walked away from the console and she followed him, hoping he would go into one of the cubicles, but he just began to pace, swinging his arms, slowly windmilling them over his head. When he finally stopped he turned to her, crossed his arms and considered her. "Did you ever really think we would be here?" "You mean here, fighting the invasion?" She thought for a moment and then without thinking, came up to him and flung her arm around his chest. Immediately, he opened his arms to her and held her to him. "No, not really. I gave up a long time ago trying to imagine the future too much. I guess I just let events sweep me along. When Mulder got into trouble, I tried to get him out. When I got pregnant, I just considered it a gift from God and let it happen. But you’ve always been there, Walter. Always there for me." She looked up into his face, the tears bright in her eyes. "I’m sorry." "For what?" He touched her face reverently. "For everything. For not trusting you, for not even giving you a chance most times. Like the other morning. "God, how many days ago was it?" He wiped a tear from her cheek and bent down to gently kiss her. "Come and lie down, Walter." The whisper touched his soul and he took her by the hand. "Base camp, this is Team 2, come in base camp." Skinner softly swore and reached toward the console, but Fielding beat him to it. "Team 2, this is base camp, come in. What have you got, Webb?" "What the hell are these God damned things we’re fighting!" The voice sounded exhausted, scared and angry as all get out. Skinner and Fielding exchanged startled glances. Fielding barked. "Report Team 2. What have you encountered?" It was almost like he didn’t hear Fielding. "Galindez says these things are supposed to blow up into green acid rain! What’s with the damn black oil?" "Oh my God!" Scully exclaimed and grabbed the microphone. "Webb, this is Scully. Tell me exactly what happened. :: Part 10 ::Gettin’ out of Dodge Ever since Viet Nam, AJ Chegwidden woke up in stages. Carefully. He let each of his senses assess his surroundings before opening his eyes. Usually at home the whole process was a quick, almost imperceptible checklist – sounds right, smells right, feels right. Then he would open his eyes. This morning, everything was wrong and it took longer to pinpoint the elements. He was used to the morning sounds of birds singing or the neighbors’ dogs barking outside or the pinging of his electric heat registers. Instead, he heard muffled footsteps above him, the clanging of forced air through the ductwork, and faint breathing next to him. Instead of the crisp clean smell of furniture polish, leather and his after shave and soap so engrained in his sensory memory that he could barely distinguish them as separate, he was acutely aware of other smells, unfamiliar smells. There was the faint smell of mildew, the bitter aroma of mothballs and the most incredible scent of her, her sweat laced with the faint residue of Irish Spring. The smell of their lovemaking enveloped him more than the clean sheets and ancient quilt that they lay under. The feel of the crisp cotton barely registered as he felt her lips on his chest, her tongue flicking at his nipple. He groaned as she moved to straddle him, and hissed in pleasure as she took his already rigid erection in her hand. She stroked it, rubbing her thumb over the tip and finally, he gasped as she lowered her hot, wet, ready core over it, burying him deep. They fit perfectly and he berated himself momentarily for waiting so long, but realized he was glad that they had waited. Waited until the rules and regulations no longer mattered; only duty and honor remained. There was no guilt and no shame in this. Dark eyes finally met dark eyes and his languid smile met her sexy grin. Rough hands caressed smooth skin and delicate fingers played in soft matted hair. When they came, they came together and swallowed each other’s cries of joy in a soul-claiming kiss. He held her while her tremors subsided, while they both got their breath back. "Damn, Sarah." He kissed her hair. "If it never stops snowing, then we never have to leave. I understand how those soldiers in World War II didn’t come out of hiding for months after the war was over." "Mmmmmmm. Ooooh. Smell that?" She arched her back to sniff the air and he took the opportunity to kiss her breast. "Nice, but I smell…roast! Oh my goodness, its 1512 hours. How could we have slept for so long?" He pulled her back to him. "Well, we didn’t sleep all that time." "No. No, we didn’t." She kissed him quickly. "But now, I’m hungry. I’d ask you to join me in the shower but it’s kind of cramped." She rose from the bed and gracefully made her way to the small bathroom. He lay back against the pillows and finally made out the heady aroma of meat cooking. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was. The four of them sat in the living room. The electricity had gone out an hour ago but the heat was gas and they were still warm. The snow still fell and it looked like it came up to the window, which was a good three feet off the ground. Pris Harper had placed a portable ‘boom box’ on the floor and they were listening to the news reports. It was almost 2000 hours when suddenly static filled the room and a new voice replaced the staid newsreader. "Uhm…well…uh…" The four exchanged glances. "This is the Voice of the Resistance calling…uhm…stand by for an important announcement." In the background they heard another voice snort, ‘oh good job, Langley’ before a familiar voice addressed them. "My fellow Americans, this is Micah Toblin, your President. I sit in a small cavern deep underground in a location far from you. I cannot take long with this first message. I come to you tonight to advise you that reports of my demise are greatly exaggerated. I know that the traitor who calls himself your president is a liar and a murderer. How many he has killed in his quest for power, I cannot begin to imagine. I charge him with collusion with the enemy and as the rightful Commander-in-Chief of the Armed Forces, I only ask that any service man who hears my voice, think. Think about what you are asked to do, think about who you will be asked to kill for whatever reason. Make your own decisions and save your own families and loved ones. We cannot stop what is coming. Many of us will perish. We can only help those near us. So I charge each of you to help your neighbors and try to stay alive to fight the evil that is coming." The radio fell silent and the regular newscaster was having trouble speaking. AJ grinned happily at Mac. "He made it. They made it." She smiled at him, but watched the faces of Pris and Russell Harper carefully. She saw the look of disbelief replaced by relief and she knew that until that moment, some part of Pris Harper had believed that she and AJ had killed the President. Russell Harper had no such look and probably had believed everything AJ had told him. She wondered briefly if that had been really wise or not. "You can’t stay here, Russell." AJ sipped the coffee that Pris had poured earlier. "I must stay here, AJ. The congregation needs Priscilla and me. Someone must be here for them." His look told AJ there was something else going on. Rising from his chair, AJ looked down at his old friend. "I want to show you something, you got a minute?" "Sure, AJ. Pris, honey, just leave the dishes, I’ll get them later." He followed AJ out of the room and the women heard the clomping of heavy shoes on the steps. Priscilla sighed and stood up and went to the dining room table. Mac hurried up behind her. "Let me get them, Mrs. Harper. You cooked and you gave us a place to stay, it’s the least I can do." Before Pris could say anything, Mac whipped up the roast and took it into the kitchen. "Just show me where the…" "Mac, its okay. I’ll wrap the meat, you get the dishes." They worked quietly cleaning, Mac rinsed the dishes and Pris loaded them into the dishwasher. Mac wiped down the counter tops and Pris the table. Finally, the kitchen was sparkling and Pris poured them each another cup of coffee, but made no move to return to the living room, leaning against the countertop instead. "He’s down there telling him why we really can’t go." Pris sighed. "Why? I wish you would come with us, but I understand that he wants to stay here for his parishioners." Mac eyed the older woman carefully. She was AJ’s age, but very delicate looking. "True and if this snow ever stops and melts, perhaps even valid. But that’s not why he won’t go. He would be a powerful force for the resistance you know. He speaks very eloquently." Her voice was wistful. "I know. I’ve heard him speak." Mac felt her stomach lurch. "What’s the matter, Mrs. Harper?" "Mac, please call me Pris. I’m sorry I didn’t completely believe you earlier. I should be ashamed of myself for doubting you. AJ would never be part of anything awful like that. He’s too good a man. I watched him all through dinner. It’s obvious that he’s terribly in love with you, so you must be a good person too." "Thank you, Pris. Now, tell me the real reason why Russell won’t go." "Because of me. I can’t go." "Why?" "My MS. It’s manageable now but the cold would kill me. I would just hold you all back until it became impossible and Russell would never forgive himself. No one knows about it, not even the Canon. I don’t want anyone’s pity. I was up all night last night thinking about this." Her voice dropped to a whisper and turned away to stare out into the snowy evening. Mac walked up behind her and placed her hands on Priscilla’s shoulders. "Tell me," she demanded gently. Mac could see the tears reflected back in the dark glass. "I thought about killing myself." "Priscilla Ball Harper!" The women turned to see the shocked look on Russell Harper’s face. AJ just stood there looking very sad. Racking sobs shook Pris and Mac stepped away quickly to allow Harper to embrace his wife. AJ came up to put his arm around Mac, who suddenly found it difficult to see through the tears pooling in her eyes. AJ gently pulled her out into the living room and Mac buried her face in his shoulder. "Oh God. How can we let this happen, AJ? Isn’t there someway?" "I don’t think so, Mac." She could hear the unshed tears in his voice. "And Russell won’t leave her – just like I wouldn’t leave you." She gasped and pulled back. "The hell you wouldn’t." She pulled back and glared up at him. "I’m a Marine, Admiral Chegwidden. If the time comes that you have to make a decision to leave me, then by God, you damn well better…" He pulled her into a heated kiss, which she fought for just a second or two. When he finally needed air, he gently kissed the top of her hair and whispered. "Colonel MacKenzie, we really have to work on your military protocols some more I see. Colonels do not give orders to admirals." "We’ll work on that." she whispered back and sighed. "We can’t stay long though, AJ. We don’t know how long this snow is going to last and we can’t keep eating their food, they’re going to need it and…" "And you’re anxious to get a move on, right Marine." He gazed solemnly into her fiery eyes. "Oh God, AJ. I want so much to just go downstairs and get naked with you under those covers." "But we aren’t like that soldier in World War II, are we Sarah?" "No, we’re not." "We’ll leave tomorrow morning at first light. You gonna be able to get up by then?" He smirked. "You gonna let me get some sleep tonight, sir?" "You want me to?" They bickered back and forth as he led her down the stairs. He awoke to an empty bed, but he heard the shower and didn’t panic. It was pitch dark, but he didn’t need to see the GMU clock on the wall across from him to know it was exactly 0530 hours. He never even bothered to set his alarm anymore and had been patently surprised yesterday when he had slept through his normal rising time. Of course, he had been awake an hour before that and he grinned at the memory of it. Breakfast was a quiet affair. Little was said beyond ‘pass the salt, please’ and ‘excellent French toast, Pris.’ When they had finished their coffee, Harper stood. "You know we can’t go with you and we know you won’t stay. Pity, I might have won back some of my poker money." "Not a chance," AJ growled. "But, Mac can’t go out in those tennis shoes. I think I might have a solution." He led them up stairs and then to the attic level of the turn-of-the-century mansion. "Before her MS was diagnosed, we spent a lot of time up north, skiing and snow-shoeing." He went to a large white plastic covered square and unzipped the opening. He pulled two snowsuits from the portable closet and tossed them to AJ and Mac. "They might not fit perfectly, but they should do. AJ, those boots okay?" "Yeah. They’re my hunting boots. They’re fine." "Mac, try these on." He held out a pair of obviously expensive ski boots. They fit a little snug, but they were warm and Mac was grateful for them. Finally, he rummaged through a footlocker and pulled out goggles, hats and gloves. Turning to a large wall cabinet, Russell pulled it open with a flourish. "Name your pleasure, ladies and gentlemen. Skis or snowshoes." It was nearly 1000 hours before they lowered themselves from the second story balcony in back. The drop, normally 8 feet was less than three. There was no choice though. Both front and back doors were sealed by snow that stood at least four feet deep in front of them. They had decided on snowshoes, but AJ made one last protest. "Hey! What about you? Aren’t you going to want to get out for supplies or something? How are you going to maneuver in this mess?" "Canon Franks will get here. He’s pretty devoted, AJ. Besides, they’d do me no good anyway. I blew out my knee a couple of months back and it couldn’t take the strain." The Right Reverend Russell Harper, Dean of the National Cathedral, confessor to presidents and former pilot for the CIA in Viet Nam calmly met the narrowed eyes of one of his oldest friends, who knew damn good and well that he was lying. Just as they were turning away, Priscilla called out. "Here, there’s some coffee and a blanket. Before he could protest, she tossed down a surprisingly heavy backpack. They made their way back to Connecticut Avenue. The street had been plowed and the going was fairly easy. There was no wind to speak of; the snow fell straight down. The temperature couldn’t have been much lower than 32 and the exertion kept them warm. As they made their way southwest, they heard the deep grinding rumble of a few snow blowers and AJ wondered how they would ever break through the eight-foot high mounds the snowplow had left. "I just hope we don’t meet the snowplow coming back this way. There’s no room for us to get out of his way." Mac often walked and jogged all over Washington, particularly on the beautiful northwest side. A distance that would have taken her perhaps an hour last week now stretched out into four. They finally met the snowplow near the entrance to du Pont Circle, stopped dead in the center of the road, no way around it. AJ took off his snowshoes and inched his way up to the cab. Climbing up, he found the driver, either dead or sound asleep. As he opened the door the man jerked up and blearily groaned. "Sorry, mister. There’s nothing I can do. It just won’t start." "Out of gas?" "No. I just filled up at the Amoco station on 20th. It just stopped." The man was almost in tears. "Not that I’m doing any good or that anyone gives a shit!" AJ leaned into the freezing cab and finally got a good look at the driver – a boy not any older than Tiner, if that. "What do you mean, son?" Bitterly, the boy continued. "When I called in and told them it just died, the dispatcher told me to leave it and go home. The mayor has given control of the snow removal over to the army and the Vice-president. That son-of-murdering-bitch, ordered all the plows and workers down to Pennsylvania Avenue and everyone else could just go to hell!" The rant died and he continued in a whisper, forcing AJ to lean in even further. "Did you hear it last night, sir? The radio I mean. I’ve got one, doesn’t work now of course, but I heard it." "I heard it, son." "You believe it, sir?" The eyes were fearful now and AJ could tell the boy suddenly realized that he might have said the wrong thing to the wrong person. "What’s you name?" AJ asked gently. The young man straightened and met his gaze. "Andy, sir. Andrew Kelly, sir." "Andy, knock off the sir stuff. Name’s AJ. And yes, I believe it. I know it and I’m going to go find him." He cocked his head and asked, "Why didn’t you leave?" Andy looked around at the snow still falling as heavily as it ever had. The buildings around the circle were barely visible, the trees already so heavy with the stuff that several had crashed to the ground. "Where would me and Fido go, sir…er…AJ?" "Fido!" It was then that the towel lying on the seat next to Andy stirred and a black and white face peeked out. "Jesus, you brought your dog with you?" "Oh, he ain’t mine, AJ. I mean he is now, but I nearly ran him over yesterday. So he’s mine." "Okay. Let’s figure this out. You say you’ve got gas?" "Yep." "Well, you got any ideas?" "Me! I just drive ‘em, AJ. I can’t fix ‘em." AJ leaned out of the cab. "Mac, make your way around on the other side, there should be enough clear space, because of the blade." It had been years since he could fix a car, though he and Russell used to do it all the time in high school back in Texas. He wouldn’t even think of trying to fix the Caddy himself. He wondered briefly where it was, but returned to the engine before him. He checked the battery terminals but they were clean. The plugs were fine. He checked all the belts and hoses he could reach, finally pulling off the distributor cap. He breathed a silent prayer. "Please, God. Let it be this simple." He made his way back to the cab and climbed into the driver’s seat. Andy scooted over next to Mac. "I need the towel." Andy reached down and pulled it off the floor. "Where the hell is Fido?" A muffled ‘mrrph’ erupted from Mac’s chest and the ski coat began to heave and ripple. AJ just shook his head, smiled and carefully wrapped the ice encrusted distributor cap before opening his own jacket and putting it next to his body. Twenty minutes later after just two tries, the huge engine roared to life. AJ made his way around the truck, picked up the snowshoes Mac had stuck upright in the snow and got in on the passenger’s side. Mac scooted over and let him get settled before resting her cheek against his shoulder. "Careful darlin’" he whispered. "You’ll get frost bite doing that." "You’re probably right, but I don’t care." AJ directed Andy to plow around the circle until they reached New Hampshire. They worked their way south and west in relative silence. Fortunately, they encountered no stalled vehicles, which in and of itself was a minor miracle. Finally, AJ murmured. "I think its time for that coffee, Mac." "Can you reach it, AJ? It's in the little space behind the seat. "I don’t want to disturb…" He laughed and reached behind them. "Hey, he was really cold. He’s still shivering, you know." "I know." He realized how much Mac missed Jingo, who had finally succumbed to old age two months ago. Opening the backpack he pulled out the heavy steel thermos. He poured a cup and reached around her. "Can you handle this, Andy?" "Sure thing. Thanks. Thanks a lot. You got to be able to drive and eat and drink. When it does snow here, you’re up all night." "How long have you been behind the wheel?" Mac asked. "Since it started." "What?" Mac exclaimed. AJ took the empty cup back and snapped. "That’s 48 hours, Andy. I thought you said you weren’t tired." "Well, I’d been asleep for a little while before you woke me up." Andy kept his eyes glued to the white on white landscape; they were nearly down to the Watergate complex. Mac and AJ exchanged somber glances. The cab had been freezing when they had climbed in. Only now, nearly thirty minutes after they had started the motor again was it warm enough for them to pull off their caps. Andy would have died in his sleep if they hadn’t come along. AJ sighed, poured another cup of coffee and offered it to Mac. She took a sip and handed it back to him. "Here." He handed her the backpack. "See what other goodies she packed. I know she did." Mac pulled out the blanket and placed it on AJ’s lap. Before he could protest she eased the dog out of his warm cocoon and placed Fido on AJ’s lap. AJ sighed and wrapped the dog up in the blanket. "Oh my." Mac pulled out four plastic storage bags, each containing a huge sandwich of last night’s roast beef on thick sliced bread. "There’s a box of chocolates down here. There’s a note attached to it, but its too dark out to read." AJ hadn’t even noticed how dark it was. "Damn, what time is it? "Only 1634 hours, but with all this snow." She grimaced when she heard Andy gasp, she would have to watch her military lingo. "1634 hours! My uncle talks like that. He’s in the Marines." Mac looked through the dim light at AJ who answered. "Yeah, Andy. Mac and I are in the military. Does that bother you?" "No, sir! I figure if anybody can get out, it will be soldiers. So what do you guys do?" AJ quirked a smile. "We’re lawyers." "Oh. Well, you got the truck started anyway. More than I could do. Never heard of a lawyer fixing trucks before. But I got a flashlight in glove box there in front of you AJ." AJ held the light and Mac slowly read the tiny handwriting. ‘AJ – Mac. It really isn’t much. There was plenty of roast beef left over; too much for Russell and me. The chocolate was a gift from a parishioner – you know I hate chocolate, AJ. You guys use it for the energy. I had extra carrots and celery. As for the rest – use the one whenever you can and the other when you must. God speed, Pris.’ Russell signed it too." Mac put the gold covered box down on her lap and peered into the back. She pulled out a soft leather covered bible and handed it to AJ and reached in again and gasped as she brought out a heavy service revolver. "Why would they have this?" "It was his, in Viet Nam. Damn it." AJ looked away and Mac let him alone with his thoughts. She unwrapped one of the sandwiches and was relieved to see it was cut in half. "You hungry, Andy?" "Oh, yes, ma’am." She could almost hear his stomach growl through the heavy tan work suit. He gratefully took the half she handed him and took small careful bites, chewing thoughtfully as he plowed his way toward Interstate 66. "AJ?" She handed him a half and suddenly Fido sat up and whined pitifully. "Aw. Poor baby, I bet you’re hungry too." She opened another sandwich and began to hand feed him bits of roast beef between her own bites. "Mac!" AJ started to admonish her. "Shush." She smiled at him. "You can discipline me later, sir." They made it out of Washington on 66 and picked up 495. They came upon a roadblock, just north of Annandale with police turning cars off the highway. AJ growled. "Been there, done that. Andrew!" "Sir?" Andy squeaked at the sudden change. With one word, AJ had gone from friendly mechanic to someone not to be ignored. "See those cop cars?" "Yes, sir." "How fast can this baby go?" "Maybe 55 if we’re lucky." "Well then, son, I suggest you make sure they don’t follow us." The fireball was impressive and Andrew actually got the truck going a whopping sixty miles per hour. But there was no one following them anyway. What was really weird was once they got a couple of miles south of Annandale, the snow began to slow down. By the time they were on 95 heading toward the coordinates that Skinner had given him, the blizzard had turned to flurries. And while the snow still covered the ground, nearly two hours later when Andy pointed out a sign reading Lorton, the pavement was actually just slushy – thick slippery slush if the cars off the side were any indication. He pushed the mess out of the way and laid down the salt sitting useless in the back of his truck. "I’m going to have to gas up, sir, and this is a pretty conspicuous thing to be driving down the road. I’m kinda surprised that the State police haven’t come after us." "What do you want to do, Andrew? Steal a car." "Uhm…no, sir…actually….uhm…." "What is it?" AJ growled. "Actually, sir, my folks live in Lorton, and I was kinda thinking we could take the Explorer. I mean all of us. You said you were going to find the President and I'm thinkin’ you’re pretty sure where to find him." "Perhaps." AJ replied cautiously. "Well, wouldn’t a doctor be kind of a good person to have?"
:: Part 11 ::Fear and Loathing in Virginia "Roberts!" Skinner practically bellowed. "Yes, sir?" Bud, who was used to the Admiral’s moods, answered calmly. "You’re in charge." The lieutenant nodded. "The President wants to meet them upstairs. Can’t say I blame him. Just send one of the soldiers up with reports as needed. Doggett should be done helping Reyes put that stuff away. If he calls in, tell him I want both of them up here, too." "Aye-aye, sir." Bud answered abstractedly, he was staring at a computer screen. Skinner wondered if he had been to bed at all last night. "And, if you reach any of the other groups…" Skinner let the hope and frustration and the fear hang between them. "Sir! I know what to do. You can trust me. The Admiral does." Walter sighed. He had half a dozen people around the console. One of the Rangers had radio experience and Samantha Fielding, unneeded medically, had volunteered to learn how to work the ham and the two of them were fielding signals from all over the world. They were getting a true picture of the devastation all over the globe. They had run the phone line down here, too, and Byers was busy calling the people on the lists that Fielding and Toblin had given him. Byers seemed to flourish with the responsibility. Skinner spared a bemused moment considering how the gunmen were such an integral part of their success. "Byers?" "Yes, sir?" "You get a hold of either of Scully’s brothers?" "No, sir. Sorry, but the phone lines out there are dead." Samantha Fielding spoke up. "Mr. Skinner, John said they were out in San Diego?" "From what Dr. Scully told me, yes." "Well, I’ve been in contact with a ham out there." She checked a clipboard in front of her. "CKR8R1, she says there’s a strange disease really wreaking havoc, people are fleeing the city. She has a portable unit and will try and keep us advised. I gave her the location where Mr. Smith said the Northwest group should be." Skinner nodded and then growled. "Langley." "I’m workin’ on it. I’m workin’ on it. It’ll take awhile, but by the time I’m done, he can talk for about ten minutes without them being able to back track the signal – completely anyway." "You need my help?" Fiona Morris looked up from the screen she and Roberts were studying. "No." The longhaired computer geek ground out and Skinner wondered if he was being territorial about his computer chore or his friend who still hadn’t set foot down here whenever Dr. Morris was present. Skinner sighed and thought, ‘I really don’t need this shit.’ He refrained from telling Roberts to call him immediately if any of the other resistance groups made contact. Slowly, he trudged up the passageway to the house that he was supposedly sharing with Scully, her family and Reyes. The living room of the house was large enough that Toblin had decided the major players could meet there comfortably and still see what was passing for daylight these days. While the snow had stopped, the gray afternoon skies were still very much in evidence and they all waited with bated breath for the next storm to bury them. Skinner paused and stared longingly at the bed he had only slept in once and was
surprised to see it made and that clean clothes had been laid out for him. He assumed they
were AJ’s and a stab of pain clutched at his chest. They hadn’t heard from
either "Walter." A heavy hand rested on his shoulder. "I’m coming, Bob." He and Fielding had never met before three nights ago, but they had bonded quickly. Fielding bowed to Skinner’s knowledge of the invasion, the aliens, and all things dealing with the inherent craziness. Skinner was grateful to hand over responsibility for security – both here and down the mountain. Fielding also seemed to be able to deal with the strange mix of personalities working together. Though even Fielding wasn’t touching the Morris/Frohike mess. "You figure out what to do with those ten Rangers that showed up this morning?" Skinner snorted. "At least we won’t have to worry about what we're going to feed them. Jesus, who’d have thought? I send Mulder, Rabb and four soldiers out to hijack a truck of medical supplies. Trouble? Hell no. They waltz right in to find the place empty except for some CDC researcher looking for his supplies. They come back – with the researcher and enough supplies that we won’t have to worry until the dates expire. We even have insulin if it’s needed." "Walter." Fielding tried to stop him, but Skinner was on a roll. "Then, I send Doggett, Antonelli and two more Rangers to try and find a store or mini mart with some food left on the shelves. What do they find? A Goddamn IGA semi, abandoned, pretty as you please, not three miles north of here. The biggest problem? Where the hell are we going to store this stuff?" "Walter." "Oh no. Then I come up with the brilliant idea to send Webb and Ling on a milk run. Hell they’d both been through enough. Right? I send Chegwidden’s daughter – a fashion designer or something, for Christ sake!" "You sent Galindez, Walter." "Fat lot of good…" "Stop! Enough! You were right the first time. Who knew? They made it out alive and they are bringing us valuable intel. They’ll be here in ten minutes. Take the time and take a shower. Trust me, Skinner," Fielding growled, "you need it." :: :: ::
Francesca wouldn’t leave Webb’s side. In the back of the truck she had clutched at him. He held her and whispered useless platitudes telling her things that both of them knew to be lies. She knew he couldn’t make the monsters go away, he couldn’t make things the way they were. He couldn’t even promise that her father would make it out of D.C. But he held her and she slept off and on. Even when they made a much-needed pit stop at a deserted rest area, she had made him come into the women’s room with her and Susan. Susan hadn’t objected, so Webb had stood there leaning against the sink while Galindez kept guard outside. Afterward, Webb tried to take the wheel, but Victor had looked at Francesca and shook his head. "No. Stay with her." Finally, only an hour or so away from Clews Haven, she had fallen into a fitful sleep, cradled in his arms. Webb laid his head back but couldn’t sleep. He wasn’t sure he would ever sleep without seeing those black eyes staring at him, the black oil coming for him. Susan Ling sat rigid in the front seat. Galindez reached out and touched her hand. "Hey, you okay?" "I froze." She spat out. "Froze? What are you, crazy? Froze! Agent Ling, you held it together back there. That was worse that the green acid." "Yeah, I remember that. I just stood there then, too. If you hadn’t knocked me over back on the mall, if you had carried me to the 1st lady…" "You remember that?" He took her trembling fingers in his. "Yeah, weird, huh? I remember everything. I was out, but I was aware, you know?" "Yeah, I understand. So…" He wanted to change the subject, he was scared too, but he kept it inside. That’s what Marines did. "…how long have you been in the Secret Service?" He got her talking and the miles crept by. The further north they went, the deeper the snow, the slower he was forced to go. She told him about her time in San Francisco and how much she enjoyed the counterfeiting detail. She told him how she seldom ever pulled protection detail, and slowly, she began to calm down. He could have let go of her hand, but when he released her fingers she closed her hand around his. They lapsed into comfortable silence. They were within ten miles of Clews Haven when Galindez swore softly. Webb heard him and sat up immediately. "What?" "Gas." "Shit! Can we make it?" "Don’t think so." He pulled off the road onto a ramp. "Where are you going?" Webb moved Francesca slightly and she jerked awake. "What? What is the matter? Are we there?" "Ssssh, Francesca. Go back to sleep." Clay tried to pull her to him, but she was wide-awake. The gas station was deserted but Victor knew how to turn on the pumps. Webb covered him, and there was no incident except Francesca’s panic attack that Susan dealt with calmly. It was nearly 2:30 in the morning before they called in on the almost dead ham radio. They hadn’t wanted to take the time to rummage through the back of the truck to find the batteries that were back there somewhere. They stopped in the middle of town and stared around them. When they had left, the town was dark and most deserted. Now, a huge semi-trailer, with the red IGA logo on its side was parked in the middle of the street. Soldiers, a lot more than Webb remembered, were busy pulling off container, boxes and bags of foodstuffs everywhere. When he saw them move a pallet of disposable diapers to the tailgate, he began to laugh hysterically. He didn’t stop until Harriet Sims and Monica Reyes came running up to the pickup truck. "Oh, Gunny!" Harriet cried. "Are you all okay? We heard what happened." "We’re fine, ma’am. Have you heard from Commander Rabb?" Galindez asked anxiously. "Oh yeah. They came back two hours ago." Harriet looked around. "He and Mulder have already gone up the mountain. Mr. Skinner said for you guys to get up there right away. Toblin wants a full report." Webb leaned forward. "What happened, Harriet? Did they run into trouble, too and have to give up?" "Oh, no. They got to Raleigh and got the stuff with no problem. They did find a CDC researcher who’s been doing some…well, I don’t really understand, but they’ll explain it once you get up there." "Now!" Webb looked longingly at the little cottage he woke up in and found himself staring into Francesca Paretti’s eyes. A radio squawked. "Reyes!" "Jesus, Skinner. They just got here." :: :: ::
Rabb paced, Mulder slouched and Skinner, Toblin and Fielding sat behind a long table that Reyes had found and brought into the living room. Everyone else, Scully, Reyes, Doggett, Sylvia Toblin, and the rail thin, pale CDC researcher, Dr. Troy Osgood, sat on whatever chair they could find - kitchen, overstuffed, or straight-back. Galindez and Webb stood and told their story. On the one large sofa, Ling sat with Francesca who never took her eyes off of Webb. Jeremiah Smith sat on the stone hearth next to the roaring fire, seemingly oblivious to what Webb and Galindez were saying. When he was finished with his part of the story, Webb returned to sit on the other side of Francesca, who gripped his hand tightly. Rabb swore. "Damn, I wish I could have been there! Maybe we could have figured out a way to bring one of them back. Figure out what the hell was going on." Before Webb or Ling could stop her, Francesca was off the sofa. "Don’t say that!" She slapped Rabb so hard, his head jerked back and a red whelp immediately rose on his cheek. Clay was at her side pulling her back, but she fought him. "You didn’t see them! How dare you say such a thing? You didn’t see their eyes." "Fran. I-I-I’m sorry." Rabb, rubbing his cheek, sat back down. Dr. Osgood, who really didn’t look much order than Francesca, stood up. "No one has ever seen this before, Miss Paretti. Though I’ve read some interesting reports about similar afflictions, reports I don’t think I was supposed to read. I understand that it must have been frightening, but…" Mulder stretched and yawned. "Wrong, Osgood. Actually, I’ve seen it. Up close and personal, so-to-speak. He stood and walked over to where Smith was sitting, the fire blazed and the alien seemed lost in thought. "So, exactly what is that stuff, Smith? What the hell was I infected with?" Only Skinner and Scully recognized the fear and hatred in Mulder’s voice. Skinner started to stand, but Scully got there first and gripped his arm. "Mulder." Smith finally looked up. "It’s what we are in our most elemental state. When we colonize a planet, we find a host and evolve as best suited to the planet." Mulder, and everyone else in the room paled. Toblin spat out. "What the hell does that mean?" Smith sighed and Mulder could feel a field rise between them. What Mulder heard next made him realize that Smith was afraid of them. When the alien was done, no one said anything. Even Francesca couldn’t work up enough courage to whimper. Finally Fielding stood and came to stand in front of Smith. He could sense the force field. "So, let me get this straight. This black oil enters the human body and basically feeds off of it, incorporating the DNA of the ‘host’ assuming the characteristics, but not necessarily the actual form of the ‘host’ and when it is done, the ‘host’ dies, right? Does that pretty much sum up what happens, Smith?" "Yes." "I see." Fielding turned away, but suddenly turned and roared. "You son-of-a-bitch!" He threw a roundhouse punch. The field seemed to sparkle and Scully knew immediately how Fielding felt. She, too, had encountered that kind of force field the day she and Mulder had searched for Billy Miles in Oregon. That encounter had knocked her out. Fielding seemed to shake violently for just a moment before he suddenly dropped to the ground. Mulder reached down to help him up. Smith looked like he was going to cry. "I’m sorry, General Fielding. If I thought that by striking me, you could make it better, I would have let you. But, we need to work together." "Together!" Fielding gasped. Scully rushed forward and was checking his pulse. "Let me see, damn it." She forced him to sit on a chair that Webb had pushed forward. "I’m fine. Just shook up." He moved his glare from Scully to Smith. "Tell me, Mr. Smith?" His voice dripped ice. "Why should we trust you?" "There is no reason, is there, Mr. Webb? Miss Ling?" Smith glanced briefly at the two people he had saved. "Mr. Mulder?" "Jesus Christ, Smith. What about me? Did the damn vaccine work?" Mulder sighed and sat cross-legged on the floor next to Fielding’s chair. Skinner had moved to join the group surrounding the alien. Toblin barked. "Everyone. Sit back down. We all want to see and hear." Smith waited until everyone but Mulder returned to their chairs. He looked down at the former agent. "After a fashion. I was there in Russia, you know. You should have died. But the vaccine did work. It did kill the embryo. It should have killed you. If they hadn’t refined it, it would have killed many more of the test subjects. I hear they tried to test the vaccine on people before they were ‘infected’." He sighed. "You are familiar with Marita Covarrubias?" "Yes." Skinner, Scully and Mulder answered. "She was the first who didn’t die from the vaccine when it was administered before the essence was introduced. They would have succeeded on a small scale had they not all been killed by the bounty hunters for their treachery." Skinner’s angry red face suddenly paled. "You mean they were working against the invasion. I killed Krycek and he was on our side?" Smith shrugged. "Mr. Krycek was neither good nor bad. He made decisions based on his own criteria, none of which were overly concerned with the survival of anyone but Alex Krycek and perhaps, if it dove-tailed with his plans, Miss Covarrubias." "Well, what the hell are we going to do?" Rabb needed to DO something to SOLVE the problem. The CDC researcher stood and cleared his throat and sought Toblin’s eye. "May I ask a question?" The President didn’t even bother to answer, just waved his hand. Sylvia walked across the room to stand by her husband’s side. Resting her hand on his shoulder, she was gratified that he reached up and clutched it. "Mr. Smith?" The alien met his watery gaze. "Uhm…are you aware of the research that is going on outside of Mountain City, Georgia?" "Only some. From what I and my colleagues know, the CDC is two years behind where the Consortium was when they started testing." Scully spoke up. "What research? Are you saying the CDC is involved in the invasion?" Osgood sighed. "I don’t think that the researchers know what they are working on. Oh, maybe Dr. Alexander. He’s in charge. He gives out little pieces of work to each researcher. Only I know how to hack into the files and read everyone’s reports." "Who the hell is this Dr. Alexander?" Toblin demanded. "Morton Alexander. He came to us two years ago, keeps to himself." Osgood cocked his head and studied the President. "I thought you would know all about it, Mr. President. I found e-mails between him and Mr. Lee. I thought maybe you gave responsibility to Mr. Winslow." He blushed at the look on Toblin’s face. "I guess with everything that’s happened, that’s not a valid assumption on my part, is it, sir?" "No." Toblin forced himself not to bury his head in his hands. Sylvia’s gentle massage of his shoulders helped, but he still felt the betrayal all over again. "So what do we do?" :: :: ::
The snow had finally stopped and the snow was packed enough that they didn’t need to lower the blade. Hopefully, Dr. Kelly felt some familial emotion for his son. Though after the disastrous interview, AJ kept looking in the rear view mirror fully expecting to see police or military or some kind of new Gestapo chasing them. He had to practically push the tearful Andrew out of the house after his father had accused them of being lovers bent on destroying all things good. Dr. Kelly wouldn’t even listen to their arguments. They had pulled up in front of the neat home in Lorton. For some reason, AJ suggested that Mac stay in the truck. As they approached the house through the thick snow, the door had opened and a petite woman had stood at the door, the light haloing her so that he couldn’t make out her face until they were right up to her. She was probably younger than she looked but fear had etched her face with early age. "Andy, honey? What are you doing here?" Andrew had faltered at her tone. AJ should have recognized something was wrong. But he was tired. He wanted a place to stay the night. He was pretty sure they were a good six or seven hours away, with the snow. As soon as Mrs. Kelly led them into the living room and AJ saw Dr. Kelly sitting in front of the television watching a replay of the so-called assassination and heard his muttered responses, he should have known. "Andrew! What the hell are you doing here? Is that your truck out front? You desert your post?" "Dad!" Andrew had stood between his father and the television. "AJ got me out. The truck wouldn’t start. Nobody would come for me. They told me to go." "They did, huh? Well that sure looks like a snowplow out there to me. You deserted your President!" Dr. Kelly stood in front of his son. "You’re a coward!" "Dad, that man isn’t our President. Didn’t you hear him on the radio last night? I did. Mom?" Andy looked at his mother, but AJ could see that she wasn’t going to come between father and son. "Don’t you say that. I saw the pictures. I saw that Iranian whore firing on the President, protecting the assassins while they executed the REAL Toblin and his wife. I heard that shit last night. It’s not true." "Actually, Dr. Kelly, it is true." AJ stood behind Andy to back him up. It had been the worst thing he could have done. "Is this your latest boyfriend, Andy?" Dr. Kelly ground out. "A little old for you, isn’t he? Look you faggot; you stay out of this. In case you didn’t know, the boy’s a real loser, a real disappointment. But then you’re probably a loser, too, or you wouldn’t be with him, would you?" "Dad! Would you shut up! This is important!" AJ could hear twenty years worth of grief in the boy’s voice and marveled that Andy had tried coming here at all. It was useless, of course. "Who the hell are you telling me to shut up? You’re in my house! You leave the job that I had to pull strings to get you, a lousy menial job because you flunked out of med school, and you dare to come here and tell me to shut up! Get out! Get out of my house and take your faggot lover with you." "Mom!" The boy had turned to the frightened woman, but even he could see she was more afraid of the petty tyrant before her than anything going on politically – but still, he tried. "Mom, please come with us." She didn’t even say anything. she just left the room. The entreaty enraged his father and he lunged at the boy, screaming, "You get out of here you damn…" He clutched his stomach and fell to his knees. AJ pulled his fist from the man’s stomach and gripped his collar, forcing him to look into his face. "Dr. Kelly, I cannot image why Andrew felt the need to come here and try and save such lovely parents as you and your wife, but he did. We wasted valuable time to come here, but hopefully, he can see you for what you are." He pushed the man away and growled. "Come on Andy, Mac’s getting cold out there." Andy didn’t say a word, but allowed AJ to pull him outside to the truck. They were almost to the truck when Mac opened the door and yelled, "Down." AJ pushed Andy to the ground. The blast ran out and hit the snow a foot above his head. "Freeze. I will shoot you." Mac yelled frantically, the service revolver aimed at a spot behind them. AJ pulled Andy to his feet, but yelled. "Keep your head down and run." Mac hung onto the door, standing on the running board and hauled Andy up into the cab keeping the gun trained on Dr. Kelly, who was standing in the door, holding a shotgun. AJ ran around to the driver’s side and climbed on board. The last thing they heard was Kelly screaming, "It’s her! It’s the woman from the television. They killed the President." He had been driving ever since. The gas gauge had been on "E" for three miles and he was sure their flight was over. Not wanting to get caught on the highway in case Dr. Kelly did call someone, he pulled off at the first exit ramp he saw with a gas station and pulled in. The engine shuddered to a stop and he looked over at Mac who had given up trying to comfort Andy. "We could break in and tomorrow morning see what we have. Maybe the owner will come back?" "Sure, sir. Come on Andy. Let’s go see what we have." They had just gotten down and started to approach the door when bright lights blinded them. "Freeze. Don’t move." Home :: cross-overs Index :: e-mail |