Notes: This is my second attempt at chapter six, which is why it took so long to get up. I dug myself in a hole and the fic was going nowhere except downhill, plus it was too MSR-y and there was virtually no plot! I now you have all of the rest of the story planned out and most of the last chapter written. If you want, I'll post what I had of the original chapter after I finish the fic. I also fixed the last chapter, it said September instead of November…
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Obscure Hotel somewhere in London
November 8, 2003
2:25
The call came in the heart of night.
The two had been sleeping, keeping well to their sides of the bed, when the hotel room phone startled them both out of an already unrestful sleep. Mulder snatched the phone off of the side desk and answered groggily.
"The Arctic Ice Core Project has been reopened."
"Who is this?" The voice was an interesting mix of a baritone with a slight vibration, a tendency to end words with a higher pitch, making every remark sound like a question.
"Someone who wants the same thing you do."
"And what would that be?"
"Mr. Mulder, I don't believe you're in a position to be asking the questions."
The ex-agent was about to respond to that but found it futile seeing as the man had already hung up.
"Who was it, Mulder?" Scully asked, leaning on one hand, eyes half closed.
Mulder spared her a smile before answering.
"It would appear someone wants us to leave England."
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NOVEMBER 10, 2003
11:35 UST
ICY CAPE, ALASKA
250 MILES NORTH OF THE ARCTIC CIRCLE
Scully trudged through the snow, resisting the ever growing urge to snap at her partner. It had taken them two days to arrive at their destination, one that she was none too keen to reach. She'd have rather been back in D.C., enjoying a nice hot bath with a cup of coco…Ah, coco…that sounded so good right now. She continued to entertain the thought until she walked into her partner, who had come to an abrupt stop in the middle of the snow. In the distance she could make out the charred remains of the AICP building. Well, remains might be a bit of an overstatement.
"What is it?"
"Something's out there, Scully…."
She paused, listening, numb ears attentive, eyes alert. Their breathing came in puffs as white as the snow, and she tried to mute it as much as possible.
She was about to speak again when she heard it, a soft crunch. She cast her eyes about, searching the vast openness for any sign of a creature. Nothing.
"You're right…" Her voice was a mere whisper, her attention still on her surroundings. Her continued vigil was rewarded with a second crunch, this one definitely closer. She glanced right, in the direction of the sound, but could discern nothing. Only white.
"The abominable snowman?"
She repressed the urge to elbow him in the ribs (not that he'd feel it through all the layers of clothing) and settled for a glare before taking a tentative step to her right. She heard Mulder following her as silently as possible, both of them scouting for the source of the noise. About ten yards off, Scully spotted what appeared to be footprints. Large, torso-size footprints. And not Scully's torso, more like Skinner's.
She indicated them with a pointed finger and Mulder nodded, taking another step toward them.
Another footprint appeared.
"Mulder…" the name was spoken in warning and Scully began to backtrack. Mulder had little choice but to do the same.
Two more footprints appeared.
Scully turned and ran just before the pure tone sluiced the arctic air, piercing at their skulls, fluctuating as if searching for the perfect note.
She heard Mulder gasp and stumbled, turning to pull him up out of the snow, their ears covered in some vain, instinctive attempt to block out the noise while they ran toward the ruins in an attempt to outrun it as futile as the attempt to not hear it.
"Scully, what is this?!" His words were roared above the din which had now decided to fall steadily in pitch, the frequency of the sound waves decreasing.
"I don't know, I've never heard anything like it! It, it could have anything to do with resonant frequencies, why else would there be a pure tone? They rarely occur in nature!" Her rambling was more to try and block out the sound than to actually communicate anything. Regardless, Mulder shouted back, putting on an extra burst of speed.
"I doubt this is anything nature created, Scully!"
The female ex-agent turned to look behind her, unsurprised to find lumbering footprints slowly pursue them. She turned back around, abandoning any attempt at blocking out the noise and using her arms to put on any extra speed she could. She could feel her skull vibrating as the pitch fell steadily, then suddenly vanished, now sounding either not at all or below 20 Hz. Considering the vibrations continued in her head, she was inclined to go with the latter assumption.
"Scully, doesn't everything give off a resonant frequency? And…and if you match them, then whatever is being matched is destroyed, that's why glass breaks when a high enough note is produced!"
"What's your point?" she panted between breaths she'd rather have conserved entirely for running.
"What if something is trying to match the resonant frequency of our skulls, or our heads? Our bodies produce a frequency lower than we can hear!"
"Or our brains!"
The pain slicing through her head was now almost too much to bear and she found her vision fading in and out, not from exhaustion or overheating but from the pure tone she could no longer hear yet knew was still being sung. If you could call something's death attack a song.
Mulder passed her, his long legs finally catching up despite her head start and his desire to stay with the only other person within a few hundred miles. Safety in numbers was not a viable application to the current situation, but that didn't mean he was going to leave her, either.
Not that I'd ever leave her.
Despite the pain slicing his mind, the thought still managed to make its presence known. Then the frequency increased again and he was on his knees, agony building in his brain until he was sure it would explode. It would have, too, if the note hadn't suddenly stopped, leaving him in a stunned state of what Scully might have diagnosed as post-traumatic shock. Unlike post-traumatic shock, however, he soon recovered and raised himself up off the ground, calling out weakly.
"Scully?"
Silence reigned across the frigid plain.
"Scully?"
Finally managing to lever himself up, he looked around him, found himself the only person in sight. He traced their footprints, finding the smaller set terminated abruptly twenty feet from where he was slumped.
"SCULLY!!!!!!!!!"
* * *
"Has the woman been obtained?" A puff of smoke emerged from the corner of the room, and the scruffy haired man shifted nervously from one foot to the other. He knew it was never a good idea to demonstrate weakness in front of his superiors, especially in his line of work, but the news he had just delivered ought to compensate for any less desirable behaviors.
"Yes, sir. She is being taken to the location you specified as we speak."
"And she has not been harmed?" The man stepped from the shadows, his eyes piercing into the photographer's.
"No, sir, nothing permanent, as you requested."
The government man crossed to his desk, crushing his cigarette in the crystalline ashtray.
"And Mulder?"
The man shuffled his feet anxiously before answering.
"He has nothing to go on, no leads. It will take him two days just to get back to London, if he even goes there."
"Then everything is going according to plan."
He suppressed a sigh of relief at the tone, bland and, in its own way, pleased.
"Yes, sir. All according to plan."
* * *
Mulder slouched into his seat, the pilot rambling off flight instructions to the passengers. The ex-agent hadn't gotten any sleep in the past thirty-six hours and wasn't likely to in the next thirty-six either. He rested his head against the window, fighting back the depression that had been building inside of him ever since Scully's disappearance. He had nothing to go on, no idea where to even begin searching, could only file a missing person's report and hope for the best. Of course, being Mulder, he wasn't going to just give up. He was flying back to the states to tell Scully's family about her abduction – there really was no other word for it – and then was going to try and get back in touch with some old contacts who might not even be alive anymore.
"Estimated time of arrival is 7:37 PM Eastern Standard Time on November 12. If you require any assistance, there is a button located…"
Mulder tuned out the pilot again and reclined his chair, eyes closed but seeing only footprints in the snow.
-------------------End Ch.6--------------------
Don't worry, I've already started writing the second chap, considering this one is so short. ^.^ I just had to end it here, though, it's such a good cliffhanger…Please R&R!!!