CHAPTER 3
Oklahoma City, Oklahoma
8:12 PM CST
The motel lot wasn't lit when they pulled up twelve minutes past curfew after speeding on Interstate Forty for nearly three hundred miles. No one expected there to be any staff on hand to greet them, given the state they had found Amarillo in. With the cars parked out of sight and a quick check inside the rooms they selected in a row on the ground level, Max's input helping to put everyone at ease, they quickly said their goodnights and parted ways. Shilah and Eric tended to their families while Cara and Will got Max and Emma settled for a quiet night in.
Emma froze midway to the room Will had selected for them, her nose wrinkling in disgust. "What is that smell?" she asked, her lips pursing.
Cara knew but didn't answer. The adults all had smelled it and recognized it the instant they stepped out of the cars - there was no choice, though. Any more time spent on the road would surely get them followed by Censurian patrol. "Don't worry about it," she whispered, ushering the girl into the room that was fortunate enough to be smell-free.
"It's dead, rotting bodies," Max announced, intending to gross his sister out.
It worked. "EWWW!" Emma shrieked. "GROSS!"
"Maddox William!" Will snapped, taking his son's arm. "First of all, there is no reason or excuse to disrespect the dead." He saw how Max's eyes fell to the ground. "Secondly, no taunting your sister."
With a mumbled apology, Will led his son firmly into the room. Cara didn't intervene - though she knew Will was a bit on edge from the day, she agreed with her husband and his decision to discipline their son. "Come on, Emma," she urged the girl quietly, feeling the tense hesitation in her daughter's body. "Emma, it'll be alright. Come on. It's better in here."
The girl was relieved when her mother was right, the shut windows locking out the stench. Unfortunately, the heat of the day was trapped inside the habitable rooms because of it, everyone groaning inwardly as they prepared themselves for a still, hot night's sleep. "We've got power," Will noted with a positive attempt. He flicked on the single overhead fan, cranking it into high gear. "Thermostat isn't working, though," he noted with a sigh.
"Well," Cara said as she set up sleeping bags on the floor, "at least we have the fan."
"The water works!" Max announced.
"Don't drink it!" Will ordered.
"I know, I know."
"Emma, can you help your mother cleanse some water for everyone to drink tonight?" Will asked as he helped Cara set up the sleeping quarters. "Emma?" he asked again, confused as to why he didn't hear his daughter respond. "Where is she?" Will snapped in a panic. "Max! Where is your sister?"
"She went next-door," Max said casually as he came out of the bathroom in a pair of sleep shorts sans shirt.
"Next-door?" Will said with confusion. His face changed when he realized what it meant. "EMMA!" He tore past Cara, who was readying some small food items for them to eat for dinner. "I said no alone time!" Will shouted, swinging open the door. Cara groaned when Will slammed the door shut behind him, knowing in a few moments her husband would be heard screaming despite their need to remain discrete.
She winced when she heard Will through the walls yell, "EMMA KATHARINE MULDER! YOU MARCH YOUR BUTT RIGHT NOW BACK TO OUR ROOM! RIGHT NOW!"
"MOM!" Emma complained when she got back to the room.
"In here," Cara ordered, supporting her husband though her tone was far gentler. "Now."
"But Mom! You said before we left this morning that when we got to the motel, I could eat with River's family!"
"Your father doesn't want you alone with River right now."
"But why?!"
"He wants to talk to River."
"But-"
"No more 'buts', Emma," Cara interrupted.
"It's not fair!" Emma moaned dramatically. "I wasn't even going to be alone with River!"
Cara simply didn't have the energy to deal with the situation. She knew there had been a lack of communication between the parents, and Emma was right when she said it wasn't fair. "Listen," Cara began gently, seeing her daughter's frustration, "I'll talk to Daddy later about it, okay? But in the meantime, you need to stay here and get ready for food and bed."
With an exaggerated huff, Emma headed for the bathroom, passing her brother on the floor, who was reading his comic book nonchalantly. "Are you done eating?" Cara asked Max.
"Yeah," Max replied. "I'm still hungry, though."
"I know, baby," Cara murmured. "But we've got to ration our supply."
"Mom," Max said softly, putting his comic down, "when we get to Virginia, is there going to be more food?"
It was such an innocent question, one that left her stumped. Max was touted as the answer, a miracle, a superhuman boy capable of things beyond normal understanding. Yet, he was just that - a boy. A boy with real questions and concerns, a boy with a limited understanding despite his power, an innocent boy.
It seemed to her the most inhumane thing in that moment, the prospect of Max or Emma stopping the dangerous war that had been waged. They were only children. They shouldn't have such a burden on their shoulders. They should be kept innocent, free from knowing how dark, cruel and twisted it all really was.
"I don't know," Cara finally replied, hearing Will enter back into the room. "I sure hope so, though."
A few doors down, Mulder was stripping off his shirt with a weighted sigh. "Hey Scully," he said toward the bathroom door, "you alright in there?" She had shut herself into the bathroom under the premise of taking a shower to relax her nerves, but he hadn't heard the water run in the last nearly twenty minutes. He wasn't sure if it was a question he should even be asking, considering all of the possibilities that could occur in the particular room she was holed up in. However, something didn't feel right.
"Fine, Mulder," he heard her reply softly.
Immediately, Mulder stood, making his way to the door. It became clearer to him her current state, her sniffles apparent only when he hovered right outside of the bathroom. "Dana?" he asked gently, his hand hovering over the knob with reluctance. "You know how much I hate that word coming from you," he reminded in a teasing tone, hoping she would realize he knew what she was trying to keep hidden.
"I can't, Mulder," Scully sniffed with a gentle exhale.
"You can't what?" he asked.
"I can't ... I just can't talk right now."
William. It had to be. The reality of what her son, her baby boy, was doing had finally sunk into her. The role Will played as Jesus Christ in the apocalyptic world they now resided in was too much for her loving spirit to bear, she an unwilling Mary whose devotion to her son knew no bounds. However painful it was for him to realize, he was Joseph in this story - everything a father could be, should be, but still unable to prevent his son's true purpose from coming to pass. He couldn't interfere, and neither could Joseph. Perhaps that was why Joseph's voice had become so quiet after the story of the birth, much like his own. Mary was present at the foot of the cross under her bleeding son - but where was Joseph? Dead? Alive and afraid?
Talking wasn't necessary - he told himself that as he twisted the knob open against her silent protest. Her tiny frame was hunched over the sink, a cheap cotton towel in hand that had been used to dab tears away. His Mary was far from unafraid, much like he wanted to believe any mother would be in the situation their child was in.
If she didn't want words, he wouldn't use them. He respected that. Instead, he enveloped her from behind, pressing against her as he simultaneously drew her away from the harsh edges of the counter into himself. He considered consoling her; he considered gentle words of love and assurance. He considered kisses along the warm skin of her neck that he nestled his lips into. It all failed him, though. Every knightly act faded from his ability as he braced her, she quaking in an eruption of pained sorrow as he had never seen before.
"Our son ..." her voice trembled through her tears. "Our son, Fox ... Our son ..."
Her use of his first name felt foreign to his ears - in this context, it was painful and real. She usually reserved the single syllable title for intimate moments in the dark, when calling him Fox seemed only appropriate to his loving whisper of "Dana." When she said it, it normally felt like the breath of relief that someone who had been forced to keep their identity secret experienced after hearing their real name uttered in tenderness. Now, it was a razor sharp knife in his side, piercing him, reminding him of his own humanity and of his own vulnerability. Fox was a child, ignored by parents who seemed to forget him. Fox was a young adult whose brilliance took him across the ocean, as far away from his parents as he could go. Fox was once a husband, a man devoted to another who was anything but devoted to him. Fox was a joke, the laughing stock of a government agency, a target for his peers. Fox was hidden, only appearing briefly in curt introductions when necessary, apologized for when people questioned the choice his parents made.
Despite that Fox had become a lover, a confidant, an alibi, a safety zone and a sensual creature, the sting of Fox being a father - a father soon to lose his only son - joined the other conjurings, culminating into an overwhelming brew of failure. Fox couldn't protect William. Fox couldn't stop the future from coming. Fox couldn't fight it alone, saving the burden for himself. Fox was powerless, Fox was weak.
He considered correcting her; he thought of how she might react at the suggestion. Instead, he let himself be Fox and be weak - the weakness, he realized, was a source of strength for the terrified Dana. She drew in his sorrow, their grief melding together in unified fright.
Each step they took to Golgotha was harder than the one before it.
1:44 AM CST
Cyrus couldn't sleep, though if he was being honest he hadn't truly bothered to try. The isolation of having his own room was both a relief and a curse, the solemn darkness allowing him space to separate himself. Yet, he didn't want to be separated from anyone - not after what he witnessed today that he managed to convince Will to listen to tomorrow morning when they were all fresh and gathered for breakfast.
He, too, had sealed his windows in an effort to keep the ungodly stench of decomposing flesh from his nose. There was no telling how many people had died within the motel rooms they hadn't opened, only coming to learn the awful truth of the presence of the bodies through an unfortunate discovery when selecting the rooms initially. Tainted water, or perhaps tainted food, had been the people's undoing, no signs of bee welts to be found on the body Scully examined. It was such a morbid situation; Cyrus felt painfully alive as he lay staring at the darkened ceiling overhead among the rotting flesh hiding behind closed doors around him.
He and Christina were the only two people to have rooms entirely to themselves. She had suggested Cyrus sleeping in her room, since it had two twin beds, but he refused, lying about being a "bear to sleep near." It wasn't an outright lie - in his current condition, he wasn't good roommate material. Especially not for her. He wasn't even good to himself.
The images stewed through his mind with relentlessness that finally aggravated Cyrus enough to fly up out of bed, shrug on his jeans back on over his boxers and step out of the room. He was grateful the cool night air that brushed across his bare chest had reduced the smell, the draft bringing it away from him so it was tolerable as he sat outside. As he ran his hand through his sandy blonde hair, he felt how unkempt it was from his tossing and turning he had done for hours now. It didn't matter, though. All he focused on was trying to rid his mind of the horrific images that plagued him from that afternoon in Amarillo.
Christina's presence was painful and soothing, the vitality of her lingering perfume drifting on the night air toward Cyrus. It made him shudder; it burned him, but the pain of it felt oddly good. "You shouldn't be out here," he commented, his eyes fixed on the parking lot ahead of him and the wide, open landscape shrouded in black beyond it.
"Why not?" she challenged, stepping closer.
He didn't move. "Because you're wasting your time."
"How?"
"By looking for answers I can't give you."
He saw out of the corner of his eye that she had planted herself near him, her stance firm. The sounds of nature around them filled the tense silence. "You need to talk to someone," Christina said softly, not willing to give up on Cyrus just yet.
"I'm fine," Cyrus replied, burying his face in his hands as he rubbed his eyes.
"Then you shouldn't be out here either."
He sighed deeply. "I already told you, I'm not a good sleeper."
"Well," Christina murmured, sitting closely next to him despite his mental wish for her not to, "you're in luck. I'm not either."
"Not true," Cyrus corrected. "I've witnessed you sleep like a brick over the last several weeks."
"So," Christina began with a small smirk, "you've spied on me sleeping, have you?"
He swallowed. "I didn't ... I mean ..."
She laughed; the melody of it made him ache. "It's alright. It's not exactly like we had very private sleeping arrangements in Arizona." She paused. "In fact, this is the most privacy I've had in a while."
"Yeah," Cyrus agreed quietly.
She sighed. "I hate it."
His eyebrow arched. "Hate ... the privacy?" He kept his eyes on his hands, twisting them as he listened. He dare not look in her eyes.
"Mmm-hmm," Christina murmured.
"Why?"
"Because ... it reminds me of ... before."
Cyrus stopped wringing his hands, gaining a bit of courage to look at Christina beside him. The tone of her voice had compelled him, the sorrow that underlined her words detectable and worrisome. "You're not alone," he assured gently, taking in her appearance while avoiding her eyes. Her long chocolate bob glinted in the faint moonlight, her face that stared ahead with a freshly-washed glow. She was in a gray camisole top with impossibly tiny straps that were joined with her silky black bra straps, the brassiere only helping to accentuate the sensual curve of her breasts. The idea of knowing the color of at least one of her undergarments sent him back to wringing his hands, but not before he drank in the sight of her smooth, ivory legs clad in small navy blue with white polka dots sleep shorts, her small feet bare.
"I was," she replied. Whether she noticed him noticing her or not, her tone didn't convey it.
"I'm here."
Sonofabitchbloodyfuckingstupid. You stupid, selfish bastard. Cyrus willed himself to correct the response that seemed to escape from his tongue with unnatural ease. He couldn't, though. As much as she didn't want to be alone, neither did he.
He was undone as soon as her eyes met his. He couldn't move - he was cemented into the concrete they sat on. He saw how dark her eyes became as she focused on his, knowing his eyes were blackening with desire as well. She was so close he could feel the warmth of her lingering in the mere inches that separated them. He wanted her warmth on him, over him, in him. He wanted to feel her against him, so vibrantly alive, so tender and pure. He wanted to lose himself in her. He wanted to give her everything he had to make her feel safe and wanted.
Tried as he might to stop himself, Cyrus' left hand was flying on autopilot, it gently cupping her cheek, his fingers immediately locking themselves prisoner to her thick cocoa waves of hair. His other hand joined in on the opposite side, urgently drawing Christina forward to him with fierce demand and power that seemed to both surprise and excite her. He froze as their lips were millimeters away from each other. He could feel the soft tip of her nose against his, her silky hair caressing his skin. His shaky breath caused his lips to everso slightly brush hers; gooseflesh covered his arms at the shock and sensation of the contact, a shudder coursing through him as her own tiny hands came to rest comfortably on his bare chest.
No. No. No. Don't. She's vulnerable. She's blind. Don't do it. Don't. Let go. Let go. LET GO!
Cyrus snatched his hands away from Christina's face, quickly standing and leaving for his room without looking back. He would give her no explanation, he wouldn't dare to stop as she called his name in confusion. She only called out once, though.
It was still enough to completely undo him.
7:43 AM CST
Breakfast was hardly substantial but readily welcomed by the group, larger rations quietly pushed toward the hungry children by adults who feared for their health. After they were finished, a moment of necessity made Will send all the kids off to the cars to wait while the parents watched across the way from them. "We need to see who is left in the city," Will announced, the quiet from the others making him tense as they stood in a group. "It's a big place. There's got to be people left." He looked over to his brother in law. "We need to know what you witnessed," he encouraged.
Cyrus was silence, the images still freshly haunting him. "They're fighting a dirty fight," he murmured softly, staring down at the gravel under his feet. "They haven't got even a hint of humanity."
"What did you see?" Mulder gently asked.
Christina watched Cyrus carefully as she stood across from him in the semi-circle they all made. She knew he was deeply troubled earlier that morning from what had happened in Amarillo. She also knew he was afraid of so much, more than he probably would ever care to admit. "They're using chemical warfare," she heard Cyrus begin. He cleared his throat.
"To what end?" Scully encouraged; she knew whatever Cyrus had seen was truly horrific and that he didn't wish to burden anyone else with the images.
"Mind control, it seems," Cyrus replied. "An air-carried chemical substance that seems to restrict independent thought. So much so that it caused nearly thirty people to commit suicide by mere suggestion of guilt."
The group was quiet; none of them expected his answer. "How was it transmitted?" Will asked, breaking the silence.
"Portable packs." Cyrus exhaled sharply through his nose in disbelief. "Kind of like how an exterminator rids pests."
"Why didn't they fight back?" Cara asked.
"One tried," Cyrus replied, looking up at his sister who was standing next to her husband. "He was shot on site. The others were corralled like animals. It was either remain in the blockade the Censurians made or be shot. None of them knew what to expect."
"How did you remain unaffected?"
"Seems as though the chemical doesn't have a wide range of reach. I saw the Censurians mask themselves just before they sprayed. I held my breath. I thought it best, considering their precaution."
"You said they killed themselves," Eric stated quietly. "How?"
Cyrus' eyes fell back to the ground. "They walked into a burning building," he muttered. "I ... I tried ... I couldn't stop them." He jammed his hands in his pockets, gritting his teeth together, his jaw flexing under the force. "If it's all the same, I need a bit of air, yeah? I'll go check on the kids," he said softly, looking up at Will. Will nodded in understanding, watching Cyrus peel away from the group toward the cars.
It was a long moment before anyone spoke, John's voice cutting through the thickness of the already warm air. "We must remain strong," he concluded with a deep breath. "We must stay unified. We must be gentle in understanding, for all of our pain will continue to grow. What Cyrus has witnessed is only a small piece of a larger picture. More awaits for the people who choose to fight. This war has only begun." He looked to Cara. "We must stand firm, knowing what we must do is right and just." John's eyes fell on Christina. "We must call upon our faith. We must uphold sacred prayer on behalf of others who do not have as much." He looked over at Scully. "We must renew our hope - we must not lean on our own knowledge." He glanced up at Mulder. "We must continue to stand behind our brothers and sisters. We must not hide from the risk of vulnerability." He then turned to Will. "You mustn't allow the Trickster to whisper in your ear. For there will soon come a test of your resolve. You must resist his lies. Your voice must be greater than anyone else's in order for the people to listen. If the Trickster speaks louder, many more will perish."
8:36 AM CST
Will was cautious as he led the caravan into the heart of the city, though he was relieved to see a bit of activity through the scurrying of people in alleyways as they passed. With a deep breath, Will pulled into an open area where the other cars followed him, the vast parking lot littered with garbage and tumbleweed. "So now what?" Cara asked as he parked the car, pulling the keys from the ignition.
"I guess it's time to do some preaching," Will joked half-heartedly.
"Daddy, people didn't want to kill Jesus right away," Emma observed.
Will nodded. "You're right. They didn't. But we've got to believe that some people here don't want to kill me, either."
"Should we open with some miracles?" Cara mumbled, the humor not doing much to quell her fear.
"We could change contaminated water into clean water," Will offered.
"But if everyone is hiding, who would see it? Who would even believe it anyway?"
Will moistened his lips. "Let's find someone who wants to believe," he concluded, exiting the car. His departure became a cue for the others, everyone besides John, Rebecca, Sarah and their children following him. River was the exclusion, not wanting to miss out on what was happening as he followed alongside Shilah, his eyes flicking over to Emma with a smile. Cara caught her daughter's reciprocating smile, the innocence and warmth of their childhood affection stirring hope deep inside of her.
They seemed to walk the streets for nearly a mile until Will caught sight of a scruffy man crouched against a brick wall. He smelled of urine and sweat, the hot air accentuating each scent. "Sir?" Will asked gently, approaching him alone after instructing the others to stay back.
"I told 'em before, I ain't doin' nothin'," the man insisted with a hoarse growl.
"I don't want you to do anything," Will murmured, catching the man's eyes.
"Who in the hell are you?" The man's eyes fell on the group behind him. "You a traveling act or somethin'?"
"I'm just here to help."
"Well I ain't needin' help, so beat it."
Will took a deep breath. This was harder and more awkward than he thought. "Sir, I-"
"Leave me alone!"
Will nodded, backing away toward Cyrus. He fished out a small ration of bread and a bottle of clean water, bringing it back to the man. "Be safe," he said as he left the tokens behind.
The man looked down at the bread and water, his weathered brow furrowing. "Why you givin' me food?" he demanded, making Will stop in his tracks.
"Because you need it," Will replied. "Don't you?"
The man looked Will in the eyes, quiet as he took him in. "What's your angle? What is it you want?"
Will shook his head. "Nothing but your trust."
"My trust?"
"Yes," Will nodded. "That's it." He looked to the group. "Come on, let's go." He gathered his family and friends, they moving along and nearly out of sight from the man before he froze.
"Hey!" the man shouted. Will turned back around, looking at the dirty man who clutched the bread that had a large bite taken out of it. "I think I can find you more trust, if you've got more bread."
Will's smile was slight and soft. "I do."
It wasn't long before a small crowd had gathered back at the parking lot, people trying to blend into the surroundings to avoid being suspicious to any Censurian pilots who might be overhead. The group spent much time cleaning water, Emma gently touching multiple containers and bottles as she softly sang. The rest focused on handing out rations of food they could afford to give away, John encouraging them to step out on simple faith that their own needs would be met.
There were a few skeptics who had gathered toward the back of the crowd, each intent on heckling Will as he tried to speak to the people. "What, you think you're Jesus or something?" one shouted with a mocking laugh.
"You do have a Jew nose though!" another added with a snicker.
"It's up to you whether you want to trust me or not," Will replied, his eyes falling on his naysayers. "And no, I don't proclaim to be Jesus, or Mohammad, or anyone like that."
"Then who are you?" another man demanded.
"William Mulder," Will said proudly, an audible gasp rising over the crowd.
"You're a baby killer!" one woman screamed.
"No, I-"
"He burned people alive!" another man shouted, yells of anger against Will from the crowd following.
"No, listen-" Will tried to stop them, but their accusations kept growing.
"He's a rapist!"
"He's a thief!"
"He's a monster!"
"He's a freak!"
"WAIT!" Cyrus screamed, silencing everyone. "Give the man a chance to defend himself!"
"What are you, a disciple?" one of the original naysayers taunted.
"LISTEN TO HIM," Cyrus yelled back, his fierceness quieting everyone, even Will. "FOR GOD'S SAKE, LISTEN TO HIM. IF YOU VALUE YOUR LIVES, THEN SHUT YOUR MOUTHS AND HEAR WHAT HE HAS TO SAY!"
There was an incredible hush; Cyrus' temper seemed to work for them in this instance. Will took a deep breath. "Is anyone here hurt?" he asked loudly, the crowd not responding. "Is anyone sick?"
Will waited; he waited for what seemed like forever, only the shuffling of feet to be heard. "My son," a woman finally said softly, her spouse seeming to protest. "He's sick from the water."
Shit, Will thought. Max and Emma can't cure the virus. "Where is he?" he asked anyway, faking his confidence.
"Will," Cara whispered to him, "what are you doing? The kids can't-"
"He's hidden," the woman replied, stepping forward.
"Take me to him," Will said gently. He began to follow the woman before Cara grabbed his arm tightly.
"Will!" Cara begged in a hushed tone.
"We've got to try, Cara," Will reasoned privately to her.
"If you fail, they will kill you, Will."
Will looked back at the woman, the desperate hope in her eyes paining him. "Then I guess I can't fail, can I?"