"I could not look upon the peaks of Ascutney, Killington, Mansfield, and Equinox, without being moved in a way that no other scene could move me...Here my dead lie pillowed on the loving breast of our eternal hills."
-President Calvin Coolidge, Brave Little State of Vermont Speech
The body was so twisted and gnarled that at first Mulder had trouble seeing it, even with the narrow beam of the flashlight illuminating it. The body lay arched against the ground, its head half buried in the ground, the chest thrust out towards the sky whilst the legs and arms bent at awkward angles below it. All signs of clothing had disappeared, and the torso looked mummified- it was a murky brown color, and had deep wrinkles. Not wrinkles, Mulder noted after a slight pause, but grooves. Like the ones found in Kenneth Ashton's body.
Like the rough lines found in tree bark.
Moss grew in various patches along the corpse, dark and moist-with blood? despite the advanced decay of the body, it smelled pungent and fresh with death. In truth, it did not smell all that different from some of the more tropical forests he and Scully had been in. They had smelled that particular scent found only in dense vegetation and the constant smell of over-ripe and dying plant life.
Mulder stood frozen over the body, it's humanity stripped away by nature and was only jarred out of his reverie by the sound of Scully shuffling leaves around. He looked down to see her crouching down by the body.
"Scully?" He winced. His voice sounded a pitch higher than it should have.
"Mulder, take a look at this." He didn't particularly want to look at whatever this was, but the incredulity that laced Scully's voice bordered on awe, and he bent down to join her.
She held the flashlight close to the ground, and pointed to her find, not daring to touch it out of the innate need to keep the crime scene as undisturbed as possible.
What appeared to be a thick root, but which Mulder instinctively identified as the arm of the man, thinned out until it became a brown lump. Stemming from the mass was-
fingers.
The man's hand ended in fingers that were long, spindly and gnarled twigs that bent menacingly, like that of a scarecrow.
Mulder swallowed and glanced at Scully. He could practically see her scientific mind whirling, trying to figure out how this entered into theories of biology and natural science.
"This is incredible, Mulder. Hardack has only been missing for two weeks at the most. This kind of decay- There must be some sort of biological agent at work, or-"
"Shh!" Scully whipped her head up. "Wha-"
Quickly, Mulder flicked off her flashlight and put a steadying hand on her arm, a gesture which clearly meant Be quiet. Listen.
There it was, again.
A quiet rustling, just discernible over the gurgling of the river.
Both agents stiffened, not knowing where the sound was coming from or if it was even a threat.
All grew quiet again.
Mulder and Scully had barely relaxed their stances when they heard a deep voice ring through the trees. "Alright, I think here is fine. I don't see any sign of them."
Though both agent's didn't dare speak, they both recognized the voice: Corey Chevalier.
A myriad of responses in other people's voices filtered through the dark for a few more minutes before the agents gratefully realized that the group was not coming any closer to them-wherever they were.
Just as Scully could feel Mulder starting to shift around anxiously, a loud crackling and a collective of relieved sighs indicated that a fire had been started. A few moments after that, a warm glow could be seen through the brush that obscured the group of locals from the agents-and the agents from the prying eyes of the group.
Moving as quietly as they dared, the agents scooted to the edge of the path that they were on and peered through the leaves of the low-growing bushes.
No more than ten feet away stood Corey Chevalier and about six others. They formed a semicircle facing away from the agents, towards the fire. Squinting, Mulder craned his neck to see past one of the members, into the flames.
And saw an old man sitting feebly in a wheel chair, gazing calmly back at the group and the bon fire.
"Mulder," Scully whispered, an odd mixture of excitement and incredulity in her voice, "Isn't that Doris Rue's husband?"
A/N: I bet you're grateful for reading "the victims" chapter now- it wasn't a complete waste of your time, after all. Well, folks, that's the last installment for a good long while...I'm leaving and won't have any access to the internet for about two months (withdrawal will be an issue, for sure). Hopefully this keeps you on your feet until then. Happy Holidays!