"On December 22, 2012, the ancient Timewave will reach its infinite point of zero, and mankind will enter the next phase of being." Chinese I-Ching prophecy, interpreted by Terence McKenna.
I-64 near Boise City, Oklahoma
32 days after
"You haven't slept in two days. Just relax now. We're all taking driving shifts to give you a break."
"I'm not tired."
"Bullshit."
"…Okay fine, just keep heading—"
"Northeast, I know." Olli turned his focus back on the road, satisfied with his easy victory in this argument.
Gibson released his anxious breath and leaned the passenger seat backward a bit. Olli's drumming on the steering wheel was getting on his nerves, but he was too exhausted to put forth enough effort to ask him to stop. He'd been reluctant to give up the driver's seat; because he felt at least somewhat in control when he was at the wheel, almost as if he were accomplishing something instead of sitting back passively and allowing the enemy to catch up. And then there were the voices—the disembodied speech and thought of not only the enemy, but the screams and pleas of the damned and the tortured as well. Gibson hadn't shared that part with his companions. His head was filled with noise that dwindled sometimes only to return a few hours later. The reappearance of daylight almost gave him some hope, but he was too afraid to hope.
"Hey, what are we gonna do about gas? There's only about a quarter of a tank in this thing. And then there's the issue of food and water…" Rowan said from the backseat.
"When we find a safe place to stop, we will," Gibson said, his eyelids suddenly growing heavier.
"You know, I'm sick of following you blindly, hanging on every word you say. What aren't you telling us? And who gives you the right to choose where we go?" Rowan said, gradually raising the volume of his voice.
"No one's forcing you to follow us. You can get out of the car now if you want," Olli responded softly.
"Why do I feel like you two have some kind of conspiracy going on? I mean, seriously, I've, like, opened up to you guys and shared my life story, and Katie and I know next to nothing about you!" Rowan was close to yelling, which added to Gibson's throbbing headache and began to test his patience. "Maybe we were wrong to trust you," he muttered.
"We're not hiding anything, but if you don't want to travel with us anymore, you're welcome to go your own way. However, since I got us this car, I'm afraid you'd be the one on foot," Gibson said, keeping his voice calm.
"What gives you—" Rowan began, but Katie, who had been a silent observer for almost the entirety of this leg of the trip, immediately cut him off.
"Rowan, why don't you just shut the fuck up? They saved our lives; what more do you want?" she said sharply, stunning him to silence. "And another thing—stop speaking for me. You don't own me, and I'm not a child. So if you plan on making any more jackass accusations, leave me the hell out of it!"
No one spoke again after that. Rowan scooted away from Katie and leaned his head on his fist, staring out the backseat window with a child-like pout. Before Gibson fell asleep, he looked over at Olli to see a wistful smile play across his lips and a satisfied gleam shine in his eyes.
Come, Gibson. You could be a leader. Powerful, respected. Have anything you want. Wouldn't you like that? We can make you into something even greater than you are. Come to us. What does a life on the run have to offer? Don't you want to be happy for once?
The voice comes from a room at the end of the hall. He walks slowly towards the door, wanting to see and wanting to know. Needing to know. He pushes the door open gently, the sound of the creaking of old wood startling him. The room is filled with light—the bright light of day. There is a bed with red sheets—no, white sheets. White sheets stained crimson. Blood everywhere. Splattered on the wall. Pooling on the hardwood floor. Two bodies in the bed and another sprawled on the floor. He can't see the faces—only the pieces of bone and flecks of brain matter. He's going to vomit. Above him and below him, the disembodied voices shriek with laughter.
See? There's no reason to stay here.
Gibson jolted awake, hitting his head against the sun visor of the passenger seat. He was panting, and he couldn't cease the fearful tears that gathered in his eyes.
"Gibson, are you okay?" Olli asked, staring at his friend in concern.
"…Yeah. It was a dream. I just had a bad dream."
"What did you see? What are They telling you?" Katie asked quietly.
"Nothing. It was just a dream." Gibson whispered.
--
Weyburn, Saskatchewan
35 days after
"We should be back by tonight at the latest."
Dana glanced over her shoulder at Mulder hovering behind her, and then quickly returned her focus to examining the old woman's ankle.
"Marcy, it's just a sprain. You'll want to stay off of it today and keep it elevated. It would be great if we had some ice left, but we'll just have to make do. I can give you some Advil, but not very much, since we're getting low. Be careful going up and down those stairs. Make sure to always use the rail from now on."
"All right. Thank you very much, Mrs. Mulder."
"Call me Dana," she said, smiling. Hearing herself addressed as "Mrs. Mulder" still made her laugh.
"Okay Dana. We sure are lucky to have you here."
She smiled and nodded, then turned around to face Mulder.
"What's going on?" she asked.
"You haven't heard anything I've said?"
"Mulder, I was busy. Please, fill me in now."
"Mommy! Mommy!" Abigail called as she ran up behind Dana, nearly colliding into her and causing her to jump in surprise.
"Abby, don't do that! What's the matter?"
"Nothing, but Mr. Sowell is taking Harper outside and I want to go too. Can you come with me?"
"Honey, I can't come right now."
"But I'm so bored! It's not fair that I have to stay inside all the time! Daddy, will you come?" she whined.
"I can't Abby, I have a lot to do. Why don't you politely ask Mr. Sowell if you can go with them?"
Abby furrowed her brow, considering his proposition. "Okay. Bye!" she called and bounded up the stairs.
Dana sighed and rubbed her temples. And I thought working for the FBI was a demanding job.
"What Mulder?" she asked.
"We're almost out of bottled water, so a group of us are going to go scouting for a creek or something. Hopefully we won't have to travel far, but we should be back tonight at the latest."
"I thought you were helping build the addition to the living quarters today."
"I was, but now I'm doing this. Clint, Nate, and Tom are going also."
"It takes four people to look for a creek?"
"To bring water back—yeah. Do you not want me to go or something?"
"No, fine. Go… I just don't see why you're the one that always has to lead these excursions. You go on every single hunt."
"I do what I can to help, Scully. If you really don't want me to go…"
"I said go, Mulder."
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing, I'm fine. I'm just tired and stressed and I have a headache, but what else is new, right? I just…I worry when you go off and I'm stuck here."
"I'll be back tonight. I'll be careful. I promise."
"Okay, I know."
He bent his knees to lower himself to her height and lightly kissed her lips, and then leaned his forehead against hers.
--
"Abby, hold still. It's going to hurt worse if you keep wiggling around."
Dana tilted the bottle of rubbing alcohol to soak the cotton, and gently dabbed it across the raw flesh on Abby's knee. The cut on her shin was fairly deep and could probably use a few stitches, but cleaning and bandaging was all that the limited supplies allowed. She would no doubt carry the scar for the rest of her life. Abby scrunched her face in pain, but she didn't cry; she took after her mother.
"Mommy, are you mad? I know I wasn't supposed to be running around outside. We're supposed to be quiet."
"Yes, we all need to be very quiet, but no, I'm not mad. I think falling on broken glass is enough of a punishment, don't you?"
"Yes…when is Daddy coming back?"
"Probably in another couple of hours."
"I wish he would come back now."
"Soon honey…okay, you're done."
Abby winced slightly as she stood, kissed her mother's cheek, and hobbled off to find her friend Harper.
"Dana?" Joe called as he quickly descended the stairs.
"I'm over here," she said, crossing to meet him.
"Somebody saw a person on the road outside, so we've been hiding upstairs in the back."
"Did you see who it was? I'm sure it's just the group coming back with the water, well, assuming they found water."
"No. It was just one man. He's a stranger."
"Is he still outside? Maybe he needs help."
"I don't know. It's only been a few minutes, but we haven't heard anything."
"Who saw him?"
"Grant Sowell and his wife."
"All right, hold on. I'm coming up."
Dana hurried into her and Mulder's area and grabbed her 9mm from underneath the bedding. She jogged up the stairs and carefully opened the door to join the few people that were hiding behind the shelving unit that covered the storage entrance.
"It's probably nothing; just somebody wandering around lost, but I'm going to take a look," she whispered.
"You can't go alone," Joe murmured.
"No, it's better if I'm alone; it'll be quieter. Trust me—I used to be an FBI agent."
No one argued as she silently stepped out into the store, which was now cast in shadow from the sunset. Slowly and carefully, she inched her way along the left side of the room, and then crouched when she reached the front and peered into the growing darkness outside. Sure enough, a dark figure stood in the drive beside the broken gas pumps, facing away from the store. Dana sucked in her breath, pushed the front door open, and aimed her weapon. The figure whirled around at the sudden clinking of the bell.
"I don't know how well you can see me, but I've got a loaded weapon aimed at your neck. Who are you and what's your business?" she demanded.
The figure, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his trench coat, casually stepped forward out of the shadows until Dana could clearly make out his features. She gasped and lowered her gun in shock. The bald, older man smiled and pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose.
"Oh my god…Skinner?"
--
Elkhart, Kansas
35 days after
"It looks empty to me," Olli called as he explored the side of the old farm house.
"Shhh! Not so loud. We don't know who might be listening," Gibson whispered.
"Olli's right. We've looked around the whole outside of the place and through all the windows. There's nobody home. And since there were three bodies on the gravel drive out front, I'm guessing no one's coming back," Rowan said loudly.
Gibson sighed, trying to hold onto his waning patience. "Okay, we go in, but be quiet and stay close together."
He brought one hand to the bulge on his lower back where he'd hidden one of the guns from the shelter, and slowly walked up the creaky steps to the front porch. Not surprisingly, the door was unlocked, and he was able to push it open easily. The others gathered behind as they tentatively entered the darkened foyer. Gibson motioned for everyone to stay put beside the front door while he carefully ascended the staircase to the small landing above. In the hall upstairs, a large grandfather clock softly ticked the seconds away. He opened each of the three doors to reveal two bedrooms with an antique bathroom in the center. One of the bedrooms had probably been used a guestroom, since it was sparsely furnished with the bed neatly made; and the other room was fairly cluttered with books and pieces of clothing strewn across the floor.
Gibson returned to the foyer to find that his companions had already begun exploring the rest of the house. He rushed through the dining room into the kitchen and found the others digging through the food pantry.
"Hey Gibson, look at this! There's a ton of food in here!" Olli cried excitedly.
"What are you doing? I said to wait for me in the foyer," Gibson hissed.
"We—" Rowan paused to throw a glance at Katie. "Excuse me, I—don't need you around to hold my hand. You know, it's because of your constant paranoia that it took us forever to get from New Mexico to Kansas—you making us hole up every few miles cause you think you heard something or saw something. It's more dangerous when you keep slowing us down, man…and for the tenth fucking time, there's nobody here."
Gibson clenched his jaw and looked away.
"Really, it's okay. We looked around and we were careful. There's nothing here. We even checked the cellar. So let's just sit down and get something to eat. We're all starving," Olli said.
Gibson nodded tersely and pulled a chair back from the round oak table.
--
He couldn't sleep in this place. The old house creaked and rattled in the wind, and all Gibson could think about was the people that had lived here before and how they had died. Everyone else was exhausted and slept soundly; he and Olli had taken the two rooms upstairs, and Rowan and Katie were in the master bedroom down the hallway from the kitchen. He stood at the picture window in the kitchen and stared at the slopes of fields outside bathed in gentle starlight. The tips of his fingers brushed the blue checkered curtains, and he closed his eyes for a moment, imagining what it would feel like to settle here and live a quiet, simple life.
"So I guess I'm not the only one who can't sleep."
Gibson jumped from his reverie and whirled around to see Katie standing in the doorway holding a long candlestick in a saucer holder. The flame flickered and danced, casting long shadows across the hardwood floor.
"Where did you find that?" Gibson asked
"In the closet across from the bathroom, and there were matches in the drawer beside the bed."
She placed the candle in the center of the table and sat across from the window so that she could see outside.
"New places make me nervous. I can't sleep until I know my way around," she murmured.
"Yeah, me too," Gibson lied.
He took a seat beside her and crossed his arms on the table. His long, dark hair fell over his face as he looked down and studied his hands.
"I'm ready to tell you now," Katie said quietly.