Author's note: I feel the need to post another warning. There's some dark content here, because I'm trying to portray an anarchical society, and the characters are in desperate situations. If this bothers you, don't read it. Flames will be deleted.
"The eyes are not here
There are no eyes here
In this valley of dying stars
In this hollow valley
This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms" T.S. Eliot
Interstate 15, Montana
47 days after
Her eyes wavered nervously on the gas gage; the warning light would probably turn on soon. They'd been lucky the last time—she'd driven past a small group hoarding gasoline at another abandoned station, and she'd traded a large portion of their food for a full tank. Now the food and the gas were both dwindling, and Dana was running out of ideas. Her initial plan had been to simply follow her instincts: to drive in the direction she imagined he'd been taken and then wait and see. Perhaps they'd come across people that could tell her more, or maybe she'd find where They were hiding. So far, nothing had been discovered except one desperate group and a lot of empty highway space.
Where the hell was she? She didn't even know. A road sign. Amazing. Oh, Montana.
Dana thought of all the times she'd been stuck in a rental car on a highway outside some nameless Podunk town. She smiled at the memories of so many pointless cases, her partner's unique ability to amuse her and piss her off at the same time, and her dire need to always have the last word. I think I fell in love with him in a Ford Taurus.
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"It's the dim hope of finding that proof that's kept us in this car, or one very much like it for more nights than I care to remember. Driving hundreds if not thousands of miles through neighborhoods and cities and towns where people are raising families and buying homes and playing with their kids and their dogs, and... in short, living their lives. While we - we - we just keep driving. Don't you ever just want to stop? Get out of the damn car? Settle down and live something approaching a normal life?"
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I'd give anything to have it back again. It was ours... Mulder…
The engine of the old Honda started to sputter. Oh shit. No. Not here. Abby stirred in the front seat but did not wake. She readjusted her stuffed cat-turned-pillow against the window and curled her knobby knees up into a fetal position. Dana pulled the car over to the shoulder of the highway as it coughed one final time before dying. Helpless. Again. She folded her arms over the wheel and rested her head on her forearms. I will not cry. Crying is giving up, and I will not give up. The sun was setting over the jagged mountain peaks in the west, and even though she did not want to admit it to herself, Dana was afraid of what new things might come out after dark.
"Why did we stop?" Abigail asked thickly as she yawned and rubbed her eyes.
"The car's broken, so we have to walk now." Dana struggled to keep both the fear and the tears out of her voice. No food and nowhere to go. Mulder, where are you? Please…
"Mommy, we'll find him," she murmured, gently placing her palm on her mother's cheek.
--
Near Oskaloosa, Kansas
47 days after
Numbness; it was the only sensation that Gibson could register. At first there had been pain and disbelief and anger…and even guilt. I killed a man. He had wept all of the emotions away until his body was purged of all feeling. And then he was punched in the gut with the realization of what it felt like to be utterly alone—something he hadn't experienced in a long time. His goal was to flee as far away as he possible could from that house and the nightmares it held. The question of how exactly he planned to survive was up in the air. Truthfully, he didn't know if he cared. Why struggle, fight, run? What's the point anymore?
He drove with his shoulders hunched over the steering wheel, his eyes glazed over and not actually seeing anything in front of him. Not that it mattered; no other cars were on the road. With each passing mile, he drew closer and closer to the forbidden east. He imagined it was where They were, since everyone seemed to have fled west. After the bombings, there was no telling what They had done with the land or who or what now dwelt there. Gibson needed to know. He needed to know what he had been fighting against, fighting to prevent his entire life. Whether it was the thing…
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"It's here."
"Where?"
"Somewhere."
"Open it! Open the door!"
"I told you it was here."
"Gibson! Gibson! Gibson!"
I'll be all right. I can fight it. I know how. It's afraid of me. I can feel it. It knows it can't keep secrets forever. It's afraid of me and I refuse to be afraid. I'll see you again, Mulder…
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I don't want to run anymore. I have tasted the unknown…learned things about Them, and then I always run before the answers come. But I have to know. If They can know our secrets, why can't we know theirs?
Slowly, an entirely new will began to empower him and propel him forward. The barrier of numbness began to break into a tingling sensation that welled up from the center of his chest. His existence, his survival, no longer seemed pointless. He would continue, if for no other reason than to find the answers. Answers for himself. For his friends—if any still lived. Answers for the vindication of the dead. He would meet Them face to face, he would enter their world, their consciousness, and then maybe he would know why. If he died trying, which he intended to do, he would sure as hell know Why.
--
Interstate 15
48 days after
Dana dragged Abby forward by the hand down the long stretch of endless highway. They squinted painfully at the brightness of the sun, having not been outside yet to experience its new full intensity. Abby's cheeks were already slightly pink with a light burn, and Dana started to feel the sting on her own skin. After walking overnight and most of the day, Dana was hot, exhausted, thirsty, and afraid…perhaps closer to terrified. Somehow she managed to smile for her daughter and reassure her that everything would be all right, though she soon felt the guilt aching in her chest; the guilt of lying, of bringing Abigail into the wilderness probably to die, of allowing Mulder to be taken. Again.
Days of traveling and still nothing. Miles and miles of nothing. Oh God, help me. Please please help me.
The food rations were officially depleted. She'd given Abby all that was left the night before. We can survive for a couple of weeks if we can just find water.
"I can't…I can't walk anymore. My feet hurt," Abigail whimpered.
"Okay. Let's stop for a minute, baby."
They collapsed in the grass a few feet from the highway, and Dana pulled off Abby's tennis shoes and socks to find her feet bloodied and blistered; she was very close to outgrowing the shoe size. Dana drew a shaky breath to censor her need for tears, and she used her sleeve to apply pressure to the bleeding as she delicately rubbed the sores on Abby's feet.
"Honey, we have to keep going. We have to keep going to find water. Do you think you can?"
Abigail rubbed her eyes and shook her head "no" as she clutched her stuffed kitten tightly to her chest.
"Okay. Put your arms around my neck."
Dana scooped the little girl up into her arms, holding her behind her shoulders with one arm and behind her knees with the other. At first, she wobbled slightly with the weight; and then after she adjusted, she began to amble down the highway with a new determination, ignoring the pain in her back.
--
St. Louis, Missouri
49 days after
He'd never seen St. Louis, and as he drove through what was left of Richmond Heights, he could only imagine what it had been like before. Now there were only ruins. Abandoned cars that were smashed and burned cluttered the streets, and piles of burned bodies had been left to rot and stink in the midday sun. They have been here. Gibson slowed the car to weave through the debris, and he scanned the now empty horizon, as most of the tall buildings had been burned, revealing miles of nothing.
Gibson gasped and flinched, startled, when suddenly a fist pounded onto the passenger side window. The man was covered in dirt and grime, and to Gibson's horror, he saw that the man's skin was peeling off of his face in burned, bloody sheets. I'm not stopping. I can't help anyone. Not anymore. As he placed his foot on the gas pedal in preparation to speed away, the man knocked out the glass on the window with his elbow and raised a gun at Gibson with shaking hands. Gibson sighed, more exhausted and frustrated than afraid for his life.
"What do you want?" Gibson asked in irritation.
"Food…Gimme whatever you got. Then I think I'm gonna have to take the car too."
"All right. I have some supplies in the back, but I have to get out to look."
The man held the gun nervously while Gibson stepped out of the car and walked around to open the trunk. As he turned the corner, Gibson casually moved his hand behind him, and then quickly drew his own 9mm. Before the man could even react, Gibson fired two shots, one to his neck and the other to his forehead. He calmly replaced his gun, stepped over the body sprawled on the cement, got into the car, and kept driving. I'm changed, hardened. I don't feel guilty. I can't pity him. This new world makes soldiers of us all, each man forming his own army. Perhaps I gave him what he wanted after all…what we all want.
--
Somewhere in Montana
50 days after
Dana squinted and blinked several times to be sure that what she saw was not a mirage. A small campfire flickered througha grove of trees. Abby squeezed her mother's hand tightly.
"People?" she asked hopefully.
"I think so, honey. I think so. We're going to see, but we have to be careful."
"Do you think they'll help us?"
"I don't know. I hope they will…"
We shouldn't. We should turn back before they see us. Who are they? For all I know, they could be…but we're starving. If we keep wandering like this, going nowhere, we'll die. My baby will die and it will be my fault. Hope is worth the risk, isn't it?
She led Abby down a small hill through a thicket of pine trees. Dana's heart was pounding, the blood pulsing in her ears. Don't Don't Don't. The word drummed in her brain, but she had no other choice but to keep moving. The decision was already made.
"Hello? Excuse me?" Dana called tentatively at the four figures silhouetted against the flame.
Two of them whirled around quickly and stood to face Dana and Abby. Four men-probably all in their forties, wearing hunting flannel, the largest with deep scars across his face, regarded the woman and child quizzically.
"What can we do for you?" the large one asked icily.
His voice sent a chill down Dana's spine, and Abby cowered behind her mother.
"Aw, ain't she a cute little thing? C'mere precious, we ain't gonna hurt nobody," the smaller man standing cooed at Abigail.
"We haven't eaten in days. Do you have anything that you could spare?" Dana asked nervously. I have my gun. It's okay. I have my gun.
"Well, actually, yeah. We got some stuff we could give ya. But we're business men, see. Nothing comes without a little price, if ya know what I mean."
The others smiled and Dana drew a shaky breath, fearful of where this might be going. But Abby needs food. If they don't let us leave, I have my gun. I have my gun.
"I'm sorry, but I don't have anything to trade," she said.
"Aw, but yer real pretty. I've always had a thing for redheads haven't I, Wade? 'Specially natural redheads."
"You do like your red ones, Bill," the larger man responded.
Bill bent down and lifted a camping pack, which he held out to Dana.
"Look in there," he said.
She peered inside to see packages of salted meats, bread, and cheese.
"You can have all that—really. And the price ain't nothin'."
He hooked his fingers in his belt loop and grinned.
"Half an hour. That's all I'm askin'…unless these guys wanna share. In that case, maybe a little longer."
There's no walking away now. For Abby. For Abby. And then it's over. It's over and we go.
"Abigail, go back up that hill and sit beside a tree and play with Kitty. Sit facing the road."
"No! Not without you. You promised!"
"I'm not leaving you. I'll be right here, okay? I'll be able to see you. Just don't look back."
"Why?"
"Just don't, Abby! Go on, honey. Everything will be all right."
When Dana was sure that her daughter was a far enough distance away and not watching the campsite, she turned around to face Bill.
"If you want all the food in that pack there fer you and yer girl, then I want everything," he said.
Bile burned the back of her throat, and she couldn't stop the tears as she knelt in front of him and shakily removed his belt.
--
Washington, D.C.
51 days after
He sat on the hood of the car and leaned back against the windshield. Washington D.C. was splayed out before him, nothing but a wasteland. The terrain stretched out into the horizon in an endless, charred, black plain. Dust and ash and the smell of burnt flesh hung in the air, causing him to choke. He hadn't seen any sign of life since he'd arrived in Virginia, and he estimated that much less than a quarter of the country's population had survived this holocaust. No telling who remained across the world—if anyone remained.
Gibson fixed his gaze on the horizon where the lonely structure stood. A dome—bigger than the one he'd seen before, and brighter; it glowed in a violet haze. The voices were close; he couldn't distinguish words, but he could hear whispers of thoughts, conversations, someone pleading for his life. He felt like he was under water listening to a world of chaos on the shore. To hear everything, he would simply have to move closer. Do I want to hear? Do I really want to know? They don't realize I'm close; I could just turn back. No…Maybe this is my chance to help them. Maybe it's what I was born to do…
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We have to make every effort to ensure that nothing happens to this boy because whatever he is, whatever gives him the ability to do what he does, he's your scientific evidence. It's just like we said. He could be the key to everything in the X-Files. He's our last best chance.
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I go.
Gibson slid off the car and strode forward with determination, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. This is the day I stop running.
When the dome grew close before him, he could see the familiar shadowed figures moving about—and then suddenly, they all stopped. Gibson watched them halt and turn in his direction from the other side of the light. He opened his arms in surrender and linked his fingers behind his head.
"I'M HERE! I'M HERE, YOU SONS OF BITCHES, AND I'M NOT AFRAID!"
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He was not afraid. The car stunk of smoke. It was overwhelming, and his head ached. He knew that he was the end of the treasure hunt for this man, and he was not afraid. But the man was afraid of him.
"Why don't you believe me when you're so afraid of me?"
"I'm not afraid of you."
"You think I can destroy you for what I know, because of what I am."
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"I'M NOT AFRAID! YOU KNOW WHAT I AM!"
--
Somewhere in Montana
50 days after
Numb, hollow, broken…empty. She felt nothing. The tears tapered off, and she severed herself from reality. Her eyes stopped seeing, and her ears filtered the sounds away. Her body did what it had to do, but her conscious mind burrowed deep inside where it could travel elsewhere.
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"Hey Scully, you think you could ever cannibalize someone? I mean if you really had to."
"Scully, would you think less of me as a man if I told you I was kind of excited right now?"
"All this because I didn't get you a desk?"
"We're going to keep our eye on the ball. Then, we're just going to make contact. We're not going to think. We're just going to let it fly, Scully, okay? Hips before hands…"
"Even when the world was falling apart, you were my constant... my touchstone."
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Afterwards, she wrapped her arms around her body and shivered despite the heat. It wasn't that hard…not really. It's over, and it doesn't mean anything. Nothing's changed.
"Give me the food," she demanded.
Her voice sounded foreign and hollow in her own ears.
"Not quite yet. We might wanna have some more fun later," Bill said.
"No. Give it to me now."
"Sorry, sugar."
She quickly drew the gun and aimed the barrel at the space between Bill's cold eyes.
"Now," she hissed.
"I ain't scared a' no pretty little redhead."
She fired—she tried to fire. The trigger clicked, but to her horror, the clip was empty. NO! How could I have left the bullets in the car?
The fourth man, who had been silently watching, grinned widely as he held out his palm and shook the bullets before closing them in his fist.
"You're not very observant, are you dear? I collected these while you were…busy."
"How much do ya think they'll give us fer this one? A lot, right? She's real pretty," Bill said excitedly.
"We'll get plenty, Bill. Plenty. Get the ropes and tie her."
She tried to fight them. She kicked and punched and bit with all her might, but it was no use. Not against four. Wade straddled her after she was thrown to the ground, and he pressed her cheek roughly into the dirt.
"NO! GET OFF ME, YOU BASTARD! ABIGAIL… RUN!"
--
Author's note: I don't believe this situation is "uncharacteristic" of Scully. She never thinks of herself—consider everything she's done for Mulder. What would she do, what would she sacrifice, for her child? And she's a scientist—she realizes that technically, this situation doesn't have to mean anything, and she looks for comfort in thinking of Mulder and detaching herself from the physical act. So I think Mulder saves her in this moment.
Also, I think this deplorable behavior of people (referring to the four men) is realistic of what would happen in a post-nuclear holocaust, lawless society. Animalistic behavior comes forth when there are no boundaries and people naturally revert back to pre-democratic ideals...Lord of the Flies?