Chapter 8
Smoke.
It was the second thing Scully was aware of.
Pain was the first. When she opened her eyes, she had to blink several times before realizing that there wasn't anything wrong with her vision.
Smoke.
Fire.
Mulder!
In that instant, the fact that she had nearly been ejected from the car was unimportant. The fact that she was injured didn't matter. What did matter was that the car was on fire and if she was lying on the hood of it, then Mulder was probably unconscious somewhere. She pushed herself up, ignoring her body that screamed in agony and crawled off the car. She braced her chest wall, which seemed to hurt the worst, and prayed it was only bruised.
(I have to get to Mulder,) she repeated to herself like a mantra. (I have to get to Mulder.)
Holding on to the crumpled hood for support, she staggered over to the driver's side to find her partner slumped over the steering wheel, which was covered with his blood. As soon as she determined that he was alive, terror-induced adrenaline coursed through her veins, taking control of her. The fire was getting closer to the gas tank - the heat stronger - the smoke thicker. It didn't faze her. She knew she had to get him out; only dimly sensing the danger through the waves of pain hammering her.
Later, she would remember the next five minutes in a series of images, emotions, and sensations. Prying the door open, blinded by the smoke, the burning in her nose and throat, her lungs feeling like they were going to explode with each choking cough. Then, her whole focus on Mulder.
She rechecked his pulse: rapid but steady. She felt the sticky warmth of his blood oozing from the gash at his hairline. Pushing him back to reach and release his seatbelt, she tried unsuccessfully to waken him. With a superhuman effort, she was able to pull his 6-foot frame close to her own body, backing away, so that he slid down to the ground. She tried to drag him by holding him under his arms but the agony in her chest wall prevented that move.
Instead, she took him by the wrists and depended on her stronger leg muscles to haul him inch by inch until she was able to deposit him behind a huge boulder, almost 10 yards away.
Breathing hard, alarmed at how out of breath she was, she risked a glance at their car. Their coats were on the front seat. Without pausing to consider the consequences, she lurched back. All she could think was that they'd be victims of exposure if she didn't get either their coats or their suitcases. The latter seemed out of the question. Miraculously, she made it back to the boulder, crouching low to cover Mulder with his coat. As she struggled into her own, she realized that there still hadn't been an explosion. Gasping for each breath, Scully warily moved closer to the car.
(Maybe I can get the suitcases. Maybe it isn't going to blow,) she told herself. She managed almost 20 steps before her courage failed, common sense took over and she turned back. As her battered body lost the numbing effects of the pure adrenaline that had fueled her to this point, her movements became weaker and slower.
The explosion came without warning. Scully felt a warm push of air at her back and suddenly she was flying through the night. She landed awkwardly, tumbling further down the slope before sliding feet first into a narrow trench. Though she tried to pull herself out, there was nothing to hold on to and her body was too weak. With faint and clinical detachment, she knew she had broken her already bruised ribs. The pain she had successfully fought against would no longer be denied, but the darkness blessedly sucked her down to a place where not even the pain could follow and the cold could not touch.
