Chapter 11
Meanwhile, in Washington, D.C., Skinner slammed down his phone in frustration. And, he hated to admit it, worry. Mulder and Scully were overdue. The hotel confirmed that his 2 agents had not checked in. He spoke to the highway patrol, but there were no reports of any accidents. They admitted that there was 300 miles between Lake Tahoe and the murder site to search. Skinner promised to send out more manpower. "I want those two agents found." He slammed the phone down even as he called for his secretary to book him on the next flight to Reno. He wanted to be close by when he got word on his missing agents.
After 4 hours of walking on sheer autopilot, they came to a narrow path, which had been beaten down to bare earth. Mulder could hear Scully's teeth chattering. The temperature was falling fast, the wind starting to pick up and it was getting harder to see in the waning light. Five minutes later, they got to a small clearing and Mulder heard running water ahead. He stopped to listen as he pulled out the flashlight and carefully swept the area before them.
At that moment, the clouds opened up and released the rain it had been storing all day. When the beam of the flashlight bounced back at him, Mulder had to blink his eyes. (Rain? Or something else?) He scarcely dared to hope.
"Hey, Scully - I think I might have found -" he broke off when he turned and saw her. Her hands hung limply at her side, her eyes were glassy and blank, her face slack. "Scully-" He got no farther, having to rush forward as her knees buckled and she collapsed. She dropped so sharply that he almost missed her completely. He was able to grip her upper arm and keep her from hitting her head but her body twisted in his hold until he could rearrange himself. As he cradled her in his arms, she struggled in vain to get up, her eyes remaining closed.
"Scully - don't move - just rest a minute," he murmured, holding her carefully. He needn't have bothered. Scully's body refused to respond to her feeble efforts to stand. She was freezing; her whole body began to shake as he held on to her, the rain pouring down on them.
Mulder was frantic. He groped at her neck, attempting to check her pulse; a task made more difficult due to his numb and trembling fingers. At last he found it - weak, erratic. Impossibly, her breathing seemed more labored, more rapid. She had yet to open her eyes.
"Scully, you hang in there. Do you hear me? Don't you die on me - not here - not now! Do you hear me Dana Scully? Don't you leave me!" he cried, his face pressed against his partner's.
Shelter. They had to find shelter. He pointed his flashlight at the spot he had found a few moments ago. There was the reflection again. He hesitated though. He had to check it out but he didn't want to leave her alone. He had no choice and telling himself it would only be a minute or two, he propped Scully against a tree and hurried off. When he got close enough to determine that it was indeed a house, dark and deserted, he felt that his first prayer had been answered.
Racing back, he found her, unbelievably, crawling on her hands and knees, struggling to stand. Overwhelming nausea swept over her, racking her body. In desperation she closed her eyes, squeezed them tight and bit her lip in sheer agony.
Mulder rushed to her, putting a supporting arm around her. "Scully, hang on." With his help, she was able to stand, swaying back and forth, her balance precarious. "I found a house. Just a little bit farther ahead."
She looked up at him dully, unable to speak as the tears and the rain streamed down her cheeks. The rain beat down on them mercilessly. Mulder didn't wait for a response. He put one arm around Scully's waist, held her tightly and moved as fast as he dared to shelter. To their only hope for survival.
Mulder was not surprised to find the door to the cabin locked. Not bothering to check every window and wasting precious time, he simply shot the lock off and hurried inside. The flashlight revealed furniture covered with drop cloths and a large fireplace. He led Scully to the couch then went to work.
On the porch there were several cords of wood protected from the rain. In his weakened state, it took a couple of trips but he transferred enough wood to last through the night. Then, using the drop cloths as kindling, he soon had a roaring fire going. Slumped on the couch, Scully sighed as the warmth touched her near-frozen body, drawing Mulder's attention. Throwing off his coat, he helped her out of hers then moved to pull off her boots. A quick trip to the bedroom yielded several thick quilts as well as 3 pillows. He returned to find that Scully hadn't moved; she was shivering uncontrollably and wheezing audibly. Mulder knelt before her and fingered her shirt. He was pleased to see that her jacket had protected it but her jeans were soaked.
"Uh - Scully - we've got to get you out of these wet jeans," he said hesitantly.
A single nod was all she could manage as Mulder fumbled with the button and zipper before sliding them down and off. Distantly he thought he'd give up undressing his partner if she would only survive this nightmare. He bundled her in one of the quilts and propped her carefully on 2 pillows in an effort to make her breathing easier.
She tried to speak but was silenced by a paroxysm of coughing. She began to cough and gasp at the same time and for one terrifying moment; she thought she was going to choke. Finally the spasm ended. Wracked with pain, she could only whimper; her body limp, bloody saliva on her lips. Kneeling helplessly before her, Mulder had a frantic sense of time running out - like sand slipping through an hourglass...
Scully closed her eyes. Mulder slipped out of his own wet jeans and boots and wrapped himself in a quilt. The adrenaline that had gotten him this far was gone. Weak and trembling, he sank down in a chair next to Scully as the room seemed to spin at a sickening rate. Exhausted and hollow-eyed, he fought to stay awake. "Scully -" he stared at her; her head had fallen listlessly to one side.
"Scully?" He hoped she sleeping. He was afraid she was unconscious. Almost hesitantly, he took a hold of her wrist and felt her pulse. Weak, rapid and thready. He pulled the chair and couch closer to the fire, and then settled back, again taking hold of her hand. Desperately he clutched at it like a security blanket. (I'll sleep later,) he promised himself. (I'll just close my eyes to rest them a minute and I'll sleep later.)
But sleep bore down on him like an avalanche and within seconds a numbness spread through his body. He slept. Outside, the wind howled and the rain changed to sleet as the temperature continued to fall.
