Glad's uncontrolled fall was halted in a rush of water. The stinging slap of contact robbed him of what little air he had left in his lungs, and left him choking as he fought back toward the surface of the dark water. Gasping, he broke free of the suffocating water, only to find himself gagging on the stench in the air that he had so pitifully fought for.
He barely managed to find the ladder on the side of the tank he had fallen into. The darkness obscured all details, and his eyes were still stinging from the smoke. The blood flowing freely from the cuts on his face mingled with the tainted water and worked to further blind him.
The ladder itself was a difficult chore. Between the gunshot and the fire, he had only one limb still fully functional.
At the top, he finally found the reason for the God-awful stench. He'd stumbled into Waste Water Treatment Vat #2.
And he was several yards and many profanities along before it occurred to him to be grateful for his good fortune.
The trip wire wrapped itself about Mulder as he fell, and held tight as he passed the explosives. They remained anchored to the wall as he accelerated away at thirty-two feet per second squared.
His pursuer had barely descended past the lip of the opening into the shaft before the explosives package fired with a dull whump. There was only a brief orange glow before the shock wave tore the fanged hunter apart, sending its ravaged carcass tumbling after Fox.
Mulder hit the laundry bags two floors down and started rolling, clenching his jaw to ignore the grinding in his shoulder. No sooner had he fetched up against a pile of moldering dishrags than the dead creature fell to the floor behind him.
He had hardly enough time to register the shattered harlequin grin, locked in an obscene rictus. Then its burning green blood sent up a foul cloud of sulphurous smoke, and the broken body dropped through the now molten floor. Fox's eyes were locked on the smoking hole the monster left in its stead, thinking just how close death had come.
Shaking away a sudden attack of mortality, Fox tried to come to his feet. He fell over suddenly when he tried to apply pressure to his right arm. From the nauseating pain burning across his collar, he guessed something had broken. It hadn't hurt this much when he'd dislocated his shoulder in high school. In the end, he sweated it out and pulled himself to his feet using his left hand. It took him several moments to begin to untangle the mess of wire that had wound itself about him in the course of his brief fall.
Skirting the charred hole in the floor, Agent Mulder edged his way over toward the shaft he'd leapt down. Pieces of blackened aluminum twisted into pure curves by the blast littered the ground, making his steps doubly treacherous. Added to the ringing he heard in his ears, it made passage difficult. Upon closing the distance, he painfully craned his neck about in order to glance back up the shaft. Steel beams blocked the way, and nothing but darkness was cast down toward him where he stood at the bottom.
Doctor Scully popped the clip loose from her rifle, and checked the slit down the left side of the stiffened box. She saw dull gleams from the sides of six rounds. That meant she had eleven rounds left. Grimly she swatted the clip back into place and reset the CAR-15 to single fire.
Quiddis finished resealing the battered porthole, and turned to face her. He spoke softly. "We just got word from the _Elliot_. Blackhawk's en route, ETA twelve minutes."
Dana found Quiddis' pistol, and thrust it into one of the gaping pockets of her overalls. "That's just enough time."
She sprinted over to the open hole in the wall, waving aside the black smoke rising up into the still air. "Mulder! Mulder, can you hear me?" The smoke burned the back of her throat and deep in her nose, but she listened for a reply that wasn't forthcoming.
She turned to see the remaining members of the team gathered quietly near the bed. "Where does this shaft empty out?"
Soun didn't meet her eyes as the Lieutenant spoke. "We've got to evacuate. Now."
Her eyes flashed as she advanced on Quiddis. "We will." She emphasized this subtly. "All of us."
"Doc." Soun spoke without looking up. "That's a two story drop, a two pack concussion, and one of those things on his tail. He's ..."
"He's probably hurt and needs help." Dana pulled the chamber bolt back on the left side of her weapon, chambering a round. "Now we're wasting time-"
Her sharp words were silenced by the sound of breaking glass. Shards careened through the room, forcing Dana to shield her eyes with her arm. The envenomed tail that had burst through the porthole withdrew sharply, leaving space for the creature to crawl in.
Agent Scully fired from the hip, the large rifle jerking out of control. But her single round hit the skeletally gaunt figure under the chin, just above Meyer's three rounds.
The abrupt sounds of a man screaming startled Agent Scully, whipping her around with an almost physical force. Whitman was screaming in blind panic as he was dragged backward into one of the electrical conduits. But before Dana could move to help, she caught sight of a chattering black form bounding across the floor to her left.
She threw herself away from the onrushing alien, the edge of her bed catching her across the small of the back. Her first two shots flew high, barely missing Soun as he unlatched one of the main doorways. With a crackling shriek, the alien leapt into the air, claws outstretched towards Scully. Her finger managed to snap the selector switch over the trigger, and a rolling burst from her weapon battered the monstrosity from the air.
The body slammed against a wall, eating through quickly. But several droplets of its yellow ichor fell upon Soun's leg, quickly sizzling through his jeans. He groaned tightly as his leg folded underneath him, dropping him next to the open door.
The unlatched metal hatch swung open, revealing a dark, glistening form in the empty portal. Light from the broken porthole glinted off its smooth carapace as it crouched low over the felled SEAL. Dana brought her muzzle to bear on the fiendish apparition, and squeezed the trigger. Nothing happened. A quick glance at her carbine confirmed the obvious; she was out of ammunition.
As one of the thing's bony claws reached out for Soun, a flash of muzzle-fire licked out to blast the figure backwards. The walls of the room shielded Soun from its blood as Quiddis lowered his weapon and ran forward to gather Soun into his arms.
"You still with us?" Quiddis never looked down, his rifle pointed out the doorway.
"Yeah. Keep moving," was all he could squeeze out between gritted teeth.
Agent Scully picked herself up off the floor. Letting her rifle clatter impotently to the floor, she retrieved Soun's weapon, and checked the clip. Not a pretty sight, but better off than she'd been a moment before. Probably the same could be said of Soun.
Quiddis gestured his men forward with his rifle, and PO Meyer started forward with Paddy. Meyer caught her eye on the way out, his mouth set in an uncharacteristically grim line. Quiddis dragged the Chief afterward, Soun's arm thrown across the Lieutenant's shoulders. Dana looked around for Whitman, motioning for him to go next.
Then she remembered the screaming. Whitman wasn't leaving the rig.
Fox figured out immediately that there would be no search party. There was no way Quiddis would use his dwindling resources to come after one man who may or may not be dead. He'd stay holed up and wait for the chopper. Hopefully, Soun would manage to sit on Dana, and let Mulder fight this one on his own. If he was to climb out of this wrecked level, it would be alone.
He had to find a way up, a route back to the SEAL team and Scully. The elevators were dead without power, and the stairwell was settling into the mud on the seafloor by now. His battered mind vaguely recalled the layout of the rig from his cursory examination of the map. Those precious few seconds back aboard the _Elliot_ seemed a lifetime away.
Trying to ignore the pain that wrenched his every breath into a shallow gasp, Agent Mulder tried to think of a way up this pylon besides the ladder. There were airducts, but even if he could somehow manage to climb them in his condition, there were doubtlessly any number of horrors shuttling along inside them. Fox simply couldn't remember the map at all; he'd been too busy sniping at Scully to concentrate on business at hand.
Last time that ever happens, he thought. One way or another.
Fox leaned his intact left side against one of the filthy countertops, and let his breath whistle between his teeth. Once, he'd have been through this all on his own, and he'd never have thought twice about it. Now he found himself relying on Dana more and more, and she had come through time and again for him. There was a certain poetic justice, he reflected, in trapping myself here because I turned my back on my . . . partner.
He blinked. An image of Dana formed in his head, dressed in the outsized overalls and workshirt she was in now, her gorgeous copper hair over one blue eye as she faced him in the bedroom. His back had still been warm from where she'd pressed against him, touched him. And she'd asked about a catwalk.
Mulder smiled easily. She'd run into Glad and Quiddis on a catwalk between the two pylons, and had wondered why they were there. He had to admit, Glad's motive was pretty damn irrelevant now, but that crucial bit of information was vital. It was Mulder's escape route. He and Quiddis had only been on this floor, the lowest floor, when they ran for their escape. That meant that the loading bay was on this level. If he made it there, he could take that cargo elevator up to floor three of the other pylon, the one they had run from. Then it was simply a matter of crossing that catwalk Scully had mentioned, and rejoining her and the team in their little shelter.
In a burst of high spirits, necessary to stave off the grinding in his shoulder, Fox nearly jogged out of the compartment. He swung the sealed hatch shut behind him and headed left, trusting his memory to guide him back to that rancid hold.
Had he stayed seconds longer, he would have heard the dull echoes of Dana's fire fight two floors above.
The rusted bulk of the exterior hatch slammed against the outside wall of Pylon Three like a gong. Storm winds were dying down now as night fell quickly over the ocean, but enough power was left in the sky to blow stray water droplets into Glad's face as he stepped out onto one of the rig's gantries. He was cold, tired and alone, and half his precious cargo had not survived the fire and flood. He didn't care any more.
Glad, also known as Colonel White, ran across the gangplank at breakneck speed, hoping no creatures were around to stop him. Below him, he could see the maimed remains of the hatch he'd destroyed yesterday, the walkway he'd very nearly hurled the lieutenant and special agent over. Now he had to make his way down there again, and again try to reach the hold.
Glad threw himself at the hatch with a fervor, sweat deforming his face as he stressed his wounded shoulder. Opening it, he let it bounce wide open as he ran into the side access tunnel. Somewhere nearby was a cramped ladder heading down. All he had to do was find it.
Pulling aside a wet and burned sleeve revealed Glad's scarred stainless steel watch. He'd pulled it from a dead officer's hand, and had worn it every day of the last ten years. It still worked, even after all the trials he'd been through. According to the softly moving hands underneath its metal shield, he was running out of time.
Scully watched the four men ahead of her run through the dank hallways of the battered rig. Frigid air formed great puffs of white from their breath, and Dana felt her own breathing fall into time with their syncopated footsteps. Somehow, Quiddis managed to keep the rifle steady in his left hand while he supported Soun with his right. And more frightening was the way the Chief clenched his lieutenant's pistol in one white-knuckled fist. She couldn't see their faces, but she could imagine the grim, bloody determination set there.
Small fragments bounced across the hallway as the four screw heads on a panel overhead were torn from their threads. The venting shaft exploded downwards as a writhing mass of limbs and tail descended between Dana and the rest of the party. If she fired, she'd sign the death certificates for the SEAL team.
Agent Scully threw herself to one side, careening through an open doorway and into a wooden desk. She tried to spin about, but the flash suppressor on her rifle caught on the desk leg. She was certain the alien must be silently bearing down on her from behind, and closed her eyes. But instead of a low hiss, she heard the contained roar of an assault rifle.
Dana managed to get to her feet, blood from a cut on her head trickling into one pale eyebrow. The creature's corpse had already disappeared into a smoking hole in the deckplates, leaving rank metallic smoke in the air.
Meyer's thin, smoke stained face peered around the doorjamb at Scully. "C'mon, we gotta book!"
Scully could almost hear the word 'babe' appended to his words. She had a sudden feeling she knew from where the Navy had recruited him. Instead of sighing as she wanted to, she ended up hanging from his arm as she navigated the smoking crater left by the creature's death. It was a harrowing leap over the pit, but she was done shortly, and running down the corridor to help Paddy to his feet.
She needed the motion, wanted the rush of blood and fear in her chest. As long as survival was paramount, she could dismiss the image of Mulder tumbling down that shaft. All alone in the night.
The loading dock and moon pool were only a few feet ahead of Mulder when he slowed down, out of breath. The pain in his collar was getting worse, and he could no longer even make a pretense of moving his right arm. But what stopped him was the foreknowledge of where he was heading.
The empty storage bay ahead was tantamount to the center of the alien hive. It was a combination egg chamber and birthing lair. And with the need for new members as acute as it was now, Mulder knew he would have been better off walking into the dragon's den. But there was no other way available for him to return to the team and Scully.
Fox refused to enter that room empty-handed, and started searching through the dark chambers nearby. Uniformly, they seemed to be storage closets and repair shops. Mulder grinned, his hazel eyes dancing with pure malice in the dark.
For twenty years, he'd lain awake at night, never able to sleep. For most of those dark hours, Mulder had stared blankly at the flicker of a television screen. Sometimes, he had wandered in and out of half empty movie houses, his chiseled profile blank as he watched the midnight matinees. Later, those same worthless second rate horror films would pass bluely before him when he lay on his patched couch in the apartment. After several years, he'd learned all the familiar, worn plot devices well.
He'd learned better than the film makers or script writers ever had. Because he'd had years working in Violent Crimes, and years profiling madmen in Behavioral. He'd learned new and exciting means of murder that even Hollywood hadn't the temerity to broadcast in Dolby Surround Sound.
And so he opened the doors on the work room grinning. Because despite the bone chilling cold, and the pain that ran like lead through his side, he had a chance here.
The gantry bounced and clanged under the SEALs boots as they boiled out of the rig pylon and into the chill salty air. Meyer and Quiddis had to turn sideways as they ran in order to fit Paddy and Soun onto the narrow planking. The faint rain slicked the cold metal railings, and dulled vision in the twilight just enough to be a distraction. It was not something they needed.
Dana stayed behind, silhouetted in the doorway they'd just left. The dim gray light of fleeing day cast her shadow out long before her, blanketing the shattered hallway with darkness. The darkness disappeared in a wash of yellow as her rifle kicked out another three rounds. In the silence following the gunfire, Scully could hear the brass shell casings rattle about the metal floor underfoot.
There was no more sign of their pursuers. Dana skittered backwards through the portal, and shuffled blindly across the gantry. She didn't dare remove a hand from her CAR-15 long enough to take hold of the railing. And there was no chance she'd turn her back on that gaping doorway.
If only Glad hadn't blown the door off, she thought, I could at least close the damn thing. The cold air burned her nose, but she was still burning up inside her thick overalls from exertion. Her shoulders hurt as she shifted, trying to scratch away the beads of sweat trickling down to the small of her back.
Dana looked up. Another gantry a level above criss-crossed between the other two pylons. And the door to one had been left open. The dark interior stood out against the pale glow of the rig wall, and it called out to her.
These creatures didn't seem to use doorways, and that door had been closed the last time Scully had passed this way. Which meant that someone had passed through here since then. Mulder might still be alive!
Dana turned to yell out to her companions.
With a sudden hiss, dark hands reached out through the swirling mist for her. Gasping in sudden fear, she thrust the blunt weapon forward and triggered another burst. This one fell short by one round, locking open upon an empty clip.
But the two shots she did squeeze off shattered the beast's ghastly carapace, and drove it shaking to the bottom of the gantry.
It twitched briefly before its blood disintegrated the metal beneath it, letting it fall screaming like a gryphon into the sea.
Scully was happy for a moment, blinking with relief. Then the walkway groaned, and buckled. Dana grabbed hold of one of the chain railings before the far end of the catwalk snapped free from the pylon, and dropped toward the water with the boom of sheared metal.
Dana felt as though her arm would be pulled from its socket, and she was vaguely aware of the plastic and metal rifle clattering away from her. The world pivoted sharply about her, and she screamed.
Somehow, she found herself dangling from the middle of the broken catwalk. Some ten feet above her, the one connected end of the shattered bridge terminated at the door to the pylon. And Quiddis was hanging halfway out the portal, holding out his hand to Agent Scully.
Dana tried to block out the hammering of her heart in her chest, or the tight pain in her arms that told her she'd sprained muscles she'd never really thought about. Instead, she tried to remember her training at the FBI Academy in Quantico. She'd hated climbing ropes then, and climbing a chain here didn't seem like much improvement to her, as the links started biting savagely into her hands.
Dr. Scully began pulling herself up, one arm at a time. Pull, pause. Then wrap her booted feet about the chain beneath her, and use them to lever herself upward another six inches. Before she'd reached Quiddis' hand, she was panting, and her hands were slippery with the strain.
"Go on. I'll follow you." Scully would have waved the SEAL away, but she didn't think she could let go of the burning cold chain.
"Like hell!" Quiddis slithered forward, until he was dangling out the doorway well past his hips. Dana looked at him dumbly, too tired to do more than wonder how in the hell he could support himself like that.
The Lieutenant took a deep breath before stretching out one hand as far as it would go, his stiff and straining fingers grazing the rusted chain inches above hers. He could see the red and white of her clenched fingers, and worried that she'd slip before she reached his hand.
Scully was worried about just the same thing, and the cold rain numbed her hands effectively enough that she knew she couldn't hold on indefinitely. Dana pulled herself up the chain slowly, her face burning red as she clenched her muscles too tightly to even breathe. Soon her eyes were burning, and she had to squint them shut as she dragged herself upward, trying to block out the tears. She thought her head was about to explode when a chill hand closed about her wrist.
Snapping open her eyes with a sudden gasp of fear, Dana very nearly let go of the chain altogether. As was, the hand holding her forearm in an iron grip was supporting most of her weight. For an instant, Scully was certain that one of her adversaries had a hold on her. Then her eyes cleared as cold air rushed into her lungs, and she could see the Lieutenant turning red from the strain of holding her, one handed.
His long frame was bent over the door sill, stretched as far as it would go. And only one hand could reach her; he couldn't bring the other shoulder far enough down to grab Dana securely. And while he couldn't pull her up to him, Dana knew she hadn't the strength to climb up his length either.
Her wet wrist started to slide out of Quiddis' grasp, and his fingers crackled down about her like steel in a losing war to keep hold of her. All he could see were her eyes, the same deep blue as the tossing waves beneath her. Somewhere in the distance, both heard the pulse of gunfire against the beating of their hearts.
"Oh Jesus, we're going to fall." Dana kicked furtively at the gangplank beneath her, scrabbling for a toehold that wasn't there.
Then both Quiddis and Dana began sliding into the doorway, an inch at a time. Scully felt the bones in her hand shifting as the lieutenant fought to hold on, his teeth bared in a feral grimace. And up they went, racing against his weakening grip for the doorway only a yard from Dana's grasp.
The lieutenant's bare stomach scraped across the door sill, and he found the purchase to grab her wrist in both his hands. Flexing mightily, he managed to lift her upwards toward him. Rain and sweat ran through his dark hair and dropped onto her upturned face as she was slowly drawn toward him.
Then she was close enough, and grabbed hold of his arm with her free hand. Straining, she managed to climb across his back, clutching the waist of his workpants as she pulled herself into the rig. Dana crawled inside, and let herself remain panting on the deck for a moment, eyes closed. Then the blackness behind her lids shook her, and she snapped her eyes open in time to see Quiddis pull himself inside as well.
It had been Soun, holding his Lieutenant by the legs, lowering him down to Scully. His one good leg was braced against the doorway, and his broad face was white and covered with a sheen of sweat. This had drained a lot of whatever reserve of strength he'd been running on. Standing over her, Meyer was reloading one of the rifles, and from the spent brass cooking underneath her and the sharp smell of cordite in the hall, he'd been the one firing just a moment before.
Scully snapped her gaze about the deserted hallway for a moment, taking in the etched pits in the walls and floor, and the fractured metal paneling. "Where's Paddy?"
One look at the pain burned into Meyer's young face confirmed Scully's worst fears. "Damn." For a moment the four were silent, watching one another. Then Quiddis drew himself up, and pulled the Chief up with him
"Okay people, we move. Meyer," his rough tone softened on the man's name, "how many clips?"
Meyer didn't look up from his rifle. "Two. Half empty."
"Quiddis looked nonplused. "No problem. Dana, hand me your pistol. You and Meyer get the big guns. I'll just carry this mutt."
Soun wheezed as he spoke. "This mutt'll kick your ass back on the _Elliot_."
"Uh-huh. Just start walkin'."
The second ladder was slick, and nearly tumbled Glad as he slid down one handed. But he made it to the bottom, and crouched in the low access way next to one of the water mains. His head was spinning from the blood loss, and he figured he had only a few minutes left before he lost it altogether. Less, once he hit the water.
Glad took hold of the large valve wheel on the main, and braced himself while he kicked out the access panel next to him. A few straight kicks, and it snapped away, clattering to the deck below. Moments later, Glad followed, dropping into a crouch on the deck.
He mentally reviewed his plan in his mind, piecing together all the steps before he launched himself down the hall. Speed was his best defense, and he had every intention of using it.
In the blue darkness of the hold, the machine shop door swung open half way, and Agent Mulder slid into the hall soundlessly. He was moving as slowly as he could, for he knew that stealth outweighed speed for now. Besides which, the battered toolbox slung over his creaking left shoulder slowed him tremendously. Even the pockets of his shirt and pants bulged with his accumulated goods. Fox sweated with the effort it took to carry such heavy weights, and the pain in his side grew worse with each step.
But if he was right, he wouldn't need it many more steps.
Ahead was the battered hatch he and Quiddis had fought to close. It was no longer latched shut, but was instead hanging askew by one remaining hinge. The lights in the main bay were still off, but the dim twilight pouring through the open bay doors allowed Mulder to see the outlines of the boxes and eggs scattered about the bay floor. Fox squinted against the light, fighting to peer more deeply into the loading platform's cavernous interior.
He stepped inside, glancing quickly along the walls and ceiling for the nesting places of these things. He couldn't see any, but Fox didn't let that fool him into believing that none were present. Just because he couldn't see the danger did not mean that it wasn't there.
Fox threaded his way between the boxes and the empty eggs, casting furtive glances at the elevator along the wall. It still remained parked at a higher level, and Mulder swore silently. He would have to wait for it to descend to pick him up, and he had no illusions about the risks involved in his mere presence down here below decks.
Mulder slipped around a large wooden crate, and froze when he saw the beast. It froze too, hunched over the large leathery egg it cradled against its slick exoskeleton. Man and alien stood separated by less than ten feet, each clutching furtively at their respective packages.
The thing was smaller than those Mulder had seen before, and its long curved skull was not crenelated with obscure bony protrusions. Instead, it was slick and clean, darkening into black from the dead white near its fanged mouth. Mulder didn't know if that meant it might be some form of worker, or a juvenile, or if this was simple sexual dimorphism.
He almost found it funny that he considered all this as he worked the small lever on the box he carried. A few more quick pumps, and he figured he'd have enough of a charge to start it up.
Much to his surprise, the alien set down the egg, and backed away slowly. It moved on all fours, and its tail wove a slow pattern like that of a cat's. Fox couldn't understand why it had suddenly dropped its precious cargo. Then the egg split open into four hemispheres, blossoming in the dark like some rotted flower.
Inside, something moved. A shape twitched briefly, and several legs appeared over the lip of the egg. Mulder then understood. Like the corpses surrounding him, this creature wanted him to witness first hand how it reproduced. It wanted to kill him, and use him.
He flicked the power switch on the box, and the compressor motor started with a shrieking whir. The little engine rumbled roughly under the compressor's whine, and the alien before him echoed the screech in double voiced counterpoint.
The little obscenity arose from the egg, and perched briefly upon one of the petals. It bore a striking resemblance to a severed human hand, down to the pasty flesh of a cadaver. But it possessed far too many fingers, and where a wrist should have been, a powerful tail coiled and uncoiled.
Mulder lifted the tool from the box, and balanced it awkwardly in his left hand. The thing moved as he did, and Fox used the compressed air gun to blast rivets into the squirming thing just as fast as it could fire them. The red hot little nails hissed as they pinned the twitching shape to its birth-egg, and its caustic blood carved wild patterns into the floor beneath it.
The alien that had carried the egg flicked its tail, and cast its head back in apoplectic fury. It shrieked in concert with itself, and pounced at the Federal Agent. Mulder dropped to the floor, and the thing landed behind him, its powerful right hand crashing through the wooden box behind him.
Fox didn't waste time rising to his feet. He simply fired his small rivet gun into the alien's hips and the base of its tail. The monster cried out as its legs were cut out from beneath it. Only its powerful claw held it upright, as it sagged against the wooden crate it had so recently torn asunder.
Not hesitating, Mulder fired again and again. He drove burning steel into the base of its neck, its back, its head. He fired until the ghastly obscenity stopped flailing about, and the shrieking had subsided to dull moans.
Then he spun about, looking above him. Somewhere, he thought, somewhere more of these things are waiting for me. But I'm going to prove one damn thing to these aliens; humans can kill far better than they can.
Fox spun about again before he saw a subtle movement in one corner. He squeezed the trigger on the rivet gun, his left hand launching another glowing fleck into the darkness.
An olive green navy Blackhawk was already circling the landing platform high above when the four people left in the team staggered out onto the wide open space. Quiddis popped a flare free from his clothes, and tossed it off to one side where it burned with an eerie green light.
The helicopter dove steeply toward the landing platform, and pulled up hard to land. Its huge wheels slammed into the metal deck hard enough to ring the structure, and its hydraulics bounced as it slammed down. The wind from its rotors nearly flattened the four struggling people. Dana fought as hair and debris blew in her eyes.
Men strapped into the open doorways of the helicopter pivoted ungainly guns about, and shattered all the nearby structures with rolling bursts of gunfire. The pilot lit up his craft with running lights and spotlight, picking out all the dark corners of the hanger for his gunners. The three men methodically poured a hail of tracers into every corner and grating, firing all about the huddled SEALs.
Shortly, the barrage ebbed, and Quiddis looked into the heart of the maelstrom to see the door gunner unstrap himself and gesture the four people forward. He grabbed Soun and ran, pulling Meyer and Dana with him. It wasn't until Dana's back was pressed up against the warm side of the helicopter that she felt this was real.
The gunner wore a bulbous helmet, and with the silvered blast shield down, he looked as insectile as his helicopter. He hunched over to help Soun and Meyer aboard, while the other two gunners sporadically fired into the rubble about the chopper.
"Wait!" Scully shouted into Quiddis' ear. "I saw a door! On the rig!"
"What?"
"It's Mulder! He's alive!" Dana pulled the pistol out of the lieutenant's pocket, jamming it into her belt again.
"I believe you! But we gotta go! Now!" Quiddis cupped his hands about his mouth to be heard over the roar of the twin turbines.
"No! Not without Fox!" Dana stepped away from the helicopter.
Quiddis moved to grab her, but Dana saw the telltale flicker of movement. She danced backward, swinging her rifle in line with the black shape crawling underneath the helicopter, dragging itself from a broken hatch in the deck.
The door gunner only saw her wild expression, her red hair wreathing her face in flames as she drew a bead on his only ride home. Trained to within an inch of his life, the terrified man slew his oversized pintle-mounted weapon to bear at the incredibly close range.
Quiddis had seen the horrors of blue on blue fire from the last rounds of desert fighting, and threw himself on the barrel of the chopper's gun. He couldn't pin down why, but he trusted Scully's instincts.
The machinegunner fired anyway, pushing Quiddis to one side. The shots bounced and kicked off the metal decking at the lieutenant's feet, and he doubled over quickly. Scully fired under the chopper, ducking to one side of the door gunner's arc of fire.
But her target was gone, the black shape of the hole in the ground its only trace. The doorgunner's volley of fire stopped abruptly, giving Dana and Quiddis the chance to raise their heads. The gunner was slumped over his weapon, still strapped to the door. But from the cracked stock of Meyer's rifle and the dent in the man's helmet, it was fairly certain what knocked him out.
Dr. Scully rushed over to Quiddis, who still hadn't risen. His ankles and shins were flecked with blood, and the canvas pants he'd worn lay in stained tatters. The shells the gunner had fired had shattered on the ground, and their broken, spinning fragments had carved thin lines through the man's legs.
"Medic!" Scully tore through the pants examining the cuts. "Get him into the chopper now!"
She was shocked when Meyer ran over to lift Quiddis into the chopper. She carried his legs as they slid him into the chopper next to the unconscious gunner. "The corpsman?"
Meyer shook his head in the rush of air from the helicopter's blades. "None!"
"Take care of Quiddis. I'll be back in ten!" Dana held up her hands, pantomiming to Meyer as she stripped his rifle of its clip.
"Wait! You can't go back!" Meyer was yelling, but didn't stop her as she gathered a satchel and items from the cramped helicopter. A stowage compartment revealed two full clips, and she stuffed both into her oversized jumper.
"Wait for us." Dana grabbed Soun's arm, and caught his bleary dark eyes with hers.
"We ain't going anywhere." He nearly pushed her out the door, his words of encouragement almost blotted out by the scouring wind and roar of the chopper.
Dana ran for the stairwell, intent upon her one goal remaining. She was nearly there when the gunfire started again. The Lieutenant's rifle in hand, Scully wheeled about to see the door gunner awake and sweeping his gun about. As his barrels came in line with her, he opened fire. Dana dropped to the deck in a huddle as hundreds of rounds hammered into the ground behind her.
Vaguely, she heard a single scream. Then the torrent of fire stopped, and she looked around. Behind her, the dismembered remains of the sole alien were burning their way through the deck. Agent Scully watched a single outstretched claw vanish in the heavy smoke, and then pushed herself to her feet.
Her hands were raw and burning, and she hurt everywhere possible. But her partner was just four floors away.
The rivet gun snapped and hissed blindly in Mulder's hand. He held it up before his gleaming eyes in the darkness, and depressed the scratched and pitted trigger again. No glowing rivet emerged. Fox checked the hopper, and found it empty. He was almost glad to discard the heavy weight of the gun and compressor, save for the loss of such an effective weapon.
He snapped the compressor off, and its chuffling little motor died with a wheeze. The box thudded dully to the floor as Mulder used his awkward left hand to draw a cylinder from his pocket. Twisting the valve on the L-shaped tube protruding from it, Fox was rewarded by the smell of gas. Pinning the cylinder under his arm, he pulled a small zippo from his pocket, and lit the acetylene torch.
The steady stream of gas ignited with a hiss, and its blue flame bathed Mulder's little world in cold fire. His breathing was shaky now; even were he not pyrophobic, his next moves would scare anyone still sane. But Agent Mulder needed something to keep these creatures at bay, and Fox had seen more than a few effective ways of accomplishing just that.
Working quickly, he pinned the little torch against his chest with his right arm. The broken bones in his collar ground and burned in protest, but Fox bit back his cries. Instead he pulled a bottle out of his left pocket and upended it, letting the kerosene inside soak the oil rag he'd stuffed into the mouth. Then he set off toward the elevator, holding the Molotov cocktail near the fire of his torch.
Mulder heard a faint hissing behind him, and he spun, lighting the bottle. The rag seemed to roar as bright yellow light wrapped itself about the stained cloth. In the brilliant light of the snapping kerosene, Agent Mulder saw a dark form charging him, bounding across the tops of the crates. Fox's hand shook as he pitched the bottle at the nearest crate just as the alien leapt for it.
The bottle shattered, and liquid fire leapt across the crates, the roaring now more insistent. Both alien and crate tumbled to the ground. The thing's tail whipped about as it flailed and cried out from the inferno that had become its funeral pyre. For a moment, it stumbled toward Mulder, and the special agent fell to the ground, scrambling backward through the muck and blood. It seemed he couldn't move fast enough to escape what appeared to be a flickering creature of living flame. It leapt for him, only to fall short by inches as its wailing died away.
Fox slapped at the smoldering hem of his pants, shivering despite the heat. The crates scattered about the loading bay fairly exploded into flames, sending billows of dense black smoke into the mass of bodies along the roof of the cavernous hold. It was a blood lit scene fit for Dante, painted by Goya. Mulder's hand found the hot bulk of his torch and he gathered it to himself as he stood. Tucking it again under his injured arm, Fox shook as he watched the fire gather upon itself.
He managed to shy away from the spreading flames, and work free a second bottle. He ran to the elevator, and slapped the call button repeatedly. "Come on! Come on!"
The hot air burned his throat, and he began to wonder if dying by fire would be any better than letting those creatures get to him. He was slumped against the wall when he spotted one of the aliens sidling along one panel.
Trapped in its crushing embrace, it held Paddy tight against its slick and bony chest. The SEAL struggled and fought, but couldn't free himself.
Mulder looked down at the bottle in his hand, and then over at the two struggling figures. He knew it had to be heading for the eggs. Fox bit his lip for a moment, and looked up at the slowly descending elevator. The terrible fire reflected in his stormy eyes for a moment, and he thought of his partner, waiting for him above.
He blinked, and divested himself of torch and bottle, leaving both next to the elevator platform. Mulder searched his bulging pockets for the right tools he'd hidden there.
Clutching them in his good hand, Fox ran as fast as he could toward the receding alien, slick and cold with the fear of the fire he'd started. He wished that amongst all his beliefs, there was a god he could pray to.
The gangplank bounced as Agent Scully ran out onto it. Ahead of her was the doorway toward the pylon, but she was stuck. Did Mulder head back for the room the team had fled, or would he now be following their path back to the chopper? She thought for a moment. Knowing him, he'd have abandoned all sane goals, and be trudging through the deepest, darkest pit he could find.
The thought brought a much needed smile to her face, and she hefted her rifle. Her best bet was to simply follow every open doorway down, and see if a pattern developed. It wasn't clever, but it was good detective work.
Dana was about to leave the gantry when the Blackhawk circled about her. She threw a hand over her eyes, shielding them from the vortexes it generated as it hovered to one side. Through its open side doors, she could see Meyer waving to her, and she wrinkled her brow. She couldn't imagine what he thought he was doing, gesticulating wildly.
Then she realized. He was pointing down, toward the base where the pylons crashed into the ocean waves. The helicopter swung its powerful spotlight onto the water there, and Scully's breath caught in her throat.
Oh God, don't let his body be down there, her mind cried. Instead, she saw thick black smoke boiling out of the open bay doors at the base of the pylon. For a moment she was confused; what did that mean? Then she remembered that this was the way he and Quiddis had escaped to the surface before.
But the smoke still scared her. It meant that Fox was down there with two nightmares. The aliens, and the fire that petrified him.
Scully leapt through the doorway, out of the cold night and into the oily depth of the rig. Silently, she dared anything to stop her.
Mulder slunk along one side of the bay, shadowing the beast that held Paddy in its iron claws. It moved slowly, cautiously away from the fire, into the depth of the shadows at the far end of the hanger.
Fox came about one of the boxes, and saw the thing pressing a struggling shape against the ground, holding him pinned before a dark egg. Delicate, clawed hands molded resins tight about the struggling soldier, binding him to the floor. It hissed softly, and stretched more rank plastics about Paddy, gluing him to the hold floor. As Mulder moved into position, he turned so that the fire illuminated the nightmare scene, casting flickering lights over his shoulder. The notion of turning his back on the fire made Mulder's balls shrink up and his skin crawl, but he had no choice as he stepped out of cover to circle the alien.
He had to move into place, so the creature was not between him and Paddy. If it were, then its vile blood would spray the helpless man and surely kill him.
Almost, almost he was there. But his foot caught on a slippery rope, dropping him to his knees in a morass of stinking goo. He clawed to his feet as the alien turned on him, enraged. Fox was determined not to look at the noxious mass he'd slipped in, but instead set the CO2 cartridge into the steel pipe.
The alien stopped its work and moved in on Mulder. Don't look up, he thought, just fit the rod in over the cartridge. The scratch of claws on the deck, and the heat of the fire at his back nearly drove him mad, but he arranged the spike and hammer as best he could.
Fox looked up, and saw the thing only feet away. Gasping, he tumbled backward, and drove the hammer into the spike. The spike shattered the compressed air cartridge, and blasted the steel tube out and into the chest of the onrushing beast. It dropped to the floor cackling and spitting, clutching the shattered exoskeleton over its inhuman heart.
Mulder pushed himself to his feet, as did the wraith-like alien warrior. Fox wiped a trace of blood from his mouth, and watched the slime drip from the alien. Its cracked chestplate dripped acid onto the gore-encrusted floor, and its spiked tail quivered over one narrow shoulder. One hand was pressed tight over the wound, in gruesome imitation of Fox's own wounded hand.
Mulder reached into his shirt pocket, and withdrew his little Zippo lighter. He was taking an awful risk, but he couldn't think of any other option. He carried a little metal awl in another pocket, and its carbide tip was diamond studded. But using it would mean diving inside the monster's reach. It meant facing that terrible acidic blood, and near certain death. Instead, Fox lit the Zippo with his left hand, and resolved to play mindgames with a demon.
Agent Mulder spun the little dial under the Zippo's flame guard, letting its fire rise six inches into the air. Then he waved the little lighter at the creature, trying to mimic the movements of his Molotov Cocktails.
The thing hunched backwards, shying away from both the roaring inferno and Mulder's puny flames. Mulder grinned ferally even as his short bangs were plastered against his head by the heat. None of the creatures that faced the SEALs had survived. Yet somehow, the remainder learned to fear the guns. Looking at Paddy, Mulder realized that they had instead learned to attack the weakest, unarmed people.
If they learned fear, and did so without speech, they might instead react to the fear and pain transmitted telepathically. This would explain their elegantly timed attacks. It was a wild leap of deduction on his part, but it was perhaps possible. And if so, he was betting that this thing would remain at bay, fearing that he could burn more of them. It all hinged upon the premise that these aliens were smart enough to recognize weapons without actually understanding them.
Suddenly, the tight fear in Fox's chest cut loose, and he found himself stalking the wounded warrior, circling inward toward where Paddy lay on the floor. The warrior hissed and spit, its twin jaws snapping furiously. But each time it feinted in, Mulder waved the flame, and it withdrew. Somewhere inside Agent Mulder, a deep and ancient part of him loved the deadly game, the dance. He saw the tendons shift in the creature's legs, watched the rolling orange flames flicker and play off its slick black armor. He liked it.
Then Fox noticed the grotesque's outstretched hands. One hand was missing several of its elongate digits. And its head was scarred, as if by a bullet. Mulder thought quickly; there was a definite chance that Mulder had saved Quiddis from this very alien. The thought that this was a second encounter made him grin; so much the better.
Mulder moved alongside Paddy, and found him glued face up to the floor with strands of resin. As much as he struggled, the soldier couldn't move.
"On my belt. The service pistol." Paddy jerked his head at the small black leather holster, hooked securely to his belt, out of reach of his pinned arm.
Mulder licked his lips, nervously shifting the Zippo to his right hand. He could barely close his swollen and aching fingers
about the small chrome casing. Whatever infection was burning its way through him, it had already seriously compromised his hand for certain.
He crouched low, tentatively reaching for the big .45 caliber Paddy wore. It took time for him to work it free, and leaning over was twisting his broken shoulder horribly. It took all his concentration not to throw up at the building pain. Frustrated and desperate, Mulder yanked viciously at the gun, tearing it out of the holster. In the process, he fell over backwards, jarring the small lighter out of his weakened hand.
With an almost human glee in its metallic cry, the alien swarmed forward, capitalizing upon the situation. It moved on three limbs, one hand clutching its shattered chest as it bounded at the felled Agent.
Mulder fumbled with the gun two handed; the older weapon didn't have a safety for use with the left hand. He struggled, snapping the safety off one handed. Then he grunted, using his stiff right hand to force the slide back, and fire. No aiming now, just pulling the trigger again and again and again.
After five or six rounds, Fox realized that no sharp claws had grabbed him. He looked ahead, and saw the crumpled dark shape flickering in the roaring reddish-orange firelight. It breathed still, deep rumbles that shook its lanky frame. Small dribbles of green blood slipped from the bullet hole in its shattered chest, burning holes in the steel beneath it.
Both man and alien pushed themselves to their feet, wobbling unsteadily. Mulder tried to brace his weakening left hand with his right, but could no longer even bring his wounded arm up to chest height. His shoulder wouldn't move for all the pain he felt, and his hand was entirely numb.
His opponent looked no better; the creature's arm hung limply at its side, and the wound in its chest was flowing freely over its cracked exoskeleton. Nonetheless it crouched into a fighting posture, hissing in pain and anger. The barbed tail still moved threateningly over its head, weaving back and forth hypnotically.
The two figures, human and alien, faced off amidst the burning boxes and across the prone form of the SEAL. The roaring fire assaulted Fox's ears, and drove all sound and thought from the room. Amidst the heat and sharp glow, Mulder watched the thing gather itself for a renewed assault. Mulder fired as the alien leapt. He was shocked to realize that the creature had not leapt at him, but to one side. It landed hard, the broken armor crunching painfully with each step. But it was anticipating him, evading him.
Mulder fired again and again, his weakening left hand wobbling erratically. But try as he might, Fox couldn't get a clear shot. The air wavered with the heat, and darkened with smoke. In a minute, the hot smoke would descend to head level, choking and blinding Fox. Worse, he felt the shaking and chills of infection, and his hand weakened by the second. If he didn't win this fight soon, he would never win it at all.
Sweat running down his face, Fox decided that it was time the tables were turned. He sucked in a deep breath, and charged the alien. If he were close enough, he couldn't possibly miss. And what would be less expected, he wondered.
The alien drove forward to meet him, its one working arm outstretched like some twisted pike. Neither figure showed signs of stopping their suicidal plunge at one another, both screaming with rage. Fox fired sharply as he ran, tucking his head along side his faltering gun arm. The huge soft-nosed rounds snapped the glistening creature's charge, driving it to its knees. The impacts shattered the cracked exoskeleton over the thing's still beating heart, and a spray of its fatal blood nearly hit Mulder as he stopped short.
Panting from the effort, Fox brought the pistol into line with the alien, and backed away. It looked up at him briefly, and he shot it through the chest. It crumpled, and lay still on the floor. Mulder looked down at the .45, its slide locked back into the empty receiver. With a sigh, he dropped it on the blood-soaked deck, and turned to free Paddy.
The sticky resin that pinned Paddy to the floor had hardened into strands of darkening plastic, nearly impossible to snap. Fox had to beat at each strand repeatedly in an attempt to break them one by one. But the fire was closing in, and Mulder was frantic as he pummeled the tough, sticky cables.
He spun at some half recognized sound, barely audible over the crackle and snap of the flames. He saw a figure step off the elevator, and jog nearer.
"Scully?" Through the heat and the light, Fox couldn't see clearly. It occurred to him that even without the raging fire, he probably wouldn't be able to see any clearer.
"Agent Mulder. This is a surprise." Mulder's head drooped momentarily onto his heaving chest, but he brought his gaze back up in challenge as Sergeant Glad stepped closer.
Glad was soiled and torn, blackened from the muck he'd waded through. A puckered cut across his face had swollen one eye shut. Mulder was shocked; he thought no one could be worse off than he was.
"I figured you'd be cold and gray by now, Mulder."
Mulder kept his eyes on Glad's hands; he was holding Fox's last Molotov cocktail, and the acetylene torch. "You don't look too good either."
"Well," Glad smiled as he looked at the conflagration climbing the east wall of the warehouse as his growling voice rose again. "I think I have you and your 'team' to thank for that, now don't I?."
Mulder tried to push himself up from his knees and failed. Instead, he pinned Glad with a withering stare as his mobile features contorted into pure hatred. The red glow of the fire painted him a devil. "You knew what was here all along, didn't you? You just gave everyone here up."
"We always know. As for your little team . . . Everyone gets expended sooner or later. And we've got more people than you do."
Paddy shook, fighting to free himself from the floor. "You bastard. Get me up. I'll fuckin' cook you!"
"Sorry to upset you. But I do like the idea." Glad smiled as he used the torch to light the greasy rag stoppering the bottle. He pulled back his arm to throw when a sharp crack rang out through the fire. The bottle slipped from nerveless fingers to shatter across the floor at Glad's feet.
Glad clutched at the spreading stain over his shoulder, then staggered backwards as the flames wreathing him reached up and along his legs. Soundlessly, he stumbled away into the descending smoke as a second rifle shot snapped out into the bay.
Mulder was coughing, trying unsuccessfully to pull his sweat-soaked shirt up about his face. Between that and his fight to free Paddy, he almost missed Dana's arrival.
She fell to the ground next to him, noting the fact that his right arm hung limply at his side. She used the buttstock to shatter some of the tightly bound resin surrounding the SEAL, but her eyes were on her partner.
"Nice timing Scully. You waiting for a dramatic moment?" He worked quickly on the resin, trying to hide his rising fear of fire.
"Always. Hard to get you to pay for lunch if you don't owe me."
Some of Mulder's native fear showed through the mask he wore, lighting his eyes as he looked up at his taut partner. "I'll take you out anytime. Just keep shooting the kooks off me, okay?"
They shared a nervous smile as they dragged Paddy across the floor, trailing bits of the cocoon that had entrapped him. All three had to crouch down to avoid the smoke, and Scully thought Mulder looked ready to pass out. She gnawed a lip trying to think of some way to drag them both to safety.
"Mulder! The chopper's here, and we've got six minutes to get there."
Fox returned her intense gaze. "Where?"
"On the top of the rig, but they're circling for now." She saw a gleam in his eyes, flickering in the fire-light. There was a moment's question bound up in the creasing of her forehead before comprehension struck her.
"No." Dana shook her head vehemently, the copper strands of her hair escaping their bonds to stick to her face wildly. "You try jumping in that water, you'll sink like a brick."
"You're okay, and Paddy's trained for this. I'm a good swimmer too." Fox tried using his intense voice, his eyes, every trick he could think of to sway Scully. "It's better than the fire."
Dana stammered an argument about human endurance when a heavy hand dropped onto her shoulder. Paddy spoke up from the floor. "I don't see a whole lot of options, Doc." He pointed toward the elevator Scully had descended. It was ablaze, yellow fire roaring through the lubrication. As they watched, the seals on the hydraulics gave way, plunging the platform to the bottom of the work pit.
Scully turned back to see the stark fear in Mulder's eyes, reflecting the fire surrounding him. Her heart went out to him; staying here, fighting the panic, must be the most terrifying thing imaginable.
"All right. Where's the water?" Mulder almost smiled, and motioned toward the moon pool with a fractional nod of his head. Together, the three people crawled through the smoke and fire, slipping in the blood and ooze.
Dana halted the two men with a gesture, her words useless against the roaring flames. Working quickly, she fought to untie Paddy's combat boots. First one, then the other was discarded. The heat on her back grew as she struggled with Fox's Timberland boots. Then Dr. Scully stripped herself of the armor she'd carried, and her own boots. The metal deck was hot from the fire, and the slick wetness poured through her socks.
Scully dragged Paddy to the lip of the pool, and pushed him in. He surfaced, flailing wildly. Dana leapt in after him, trying to hold him up despite the weight of her clothes. The dark, frigid water shocked her completely, and sucked the air from her. Dr. Scully fought numbed hands as she tried to dog-paddle with some success. Then she heard a splash, and Mulder quickly pressed against her. She couldn't hear him for the noise of fire and water, but she could see him shivering by firelight.
Scully dragged Mulder onto her stomach, and held onto Paddy's combat webbing with her left hand. She started kicking, pushing them out of and away from the burning rig. Repeatedly, she kicked Mulder's lanky legs or Paddy's feet. They too were thrashing, trying to get the three of them out before the whole rig collapsed.
Paddy gasped in her ear, as small water droplets flicked her face and the Gulf waters threatened to drown her. "Oil . . . in the water. If . . . the rig . . . goes up . . . it burns." Fox had seen pictures of oil rig disasters, and this scared him to death. Once a spill was lit, the rig often melted completely. A rig in the Baltic had burned so furiously that the wreckage was never recovered; it fell completely apart.
Fox pushed harder, putting renewed strength into his kicks. Despite Dana's best efforts, he kept sliding under water for progressively longer periods. They hadn't moved more than fifty yards, and already he was gasping, his limbs drifting unresponsively.
Scully figured they were clear enough of the smoke plume, and pulled her trump card. Much of what she'd carried had been lost one way or another during her wild run down the rig. But in one pocket, she found one of the magnesium flares she'd stolen from the helicopter. Snapping the plastic cap off, it ignited and cut a blinding green light into their retinas.
Now the trick was staying afloat while waving the flare overhead. The wind and chill water slapping the breath from her wasn't helping. God only knew what Mulder and Paddy were feeling.
Paddy was like a weight about her neck, and Mulder no longer held on to her. Now, he only barely managed to float on his back. Scully could only wish she were larger. She had always been buoyant, but now she needed to be tall enough to hold both sinking men.
The helicopter swung into view around the dark, burning hulk of the oil derrick. Its huge blades swept the thick petrochemical smoke into wild curves and drove it back down upon the three weary people in the water. It was choking and foul, but far better than the water.
The water itself was lifted and hurled at them by the helicopter's blades, knifing into them and blinding one and all. But the weight of the air pushing down drove them under water. Dana kicked and pushed, but couldn't hold all three above water for long.
When the mass of people resurfaced, Scully realized why they were battered so forcefully. The pilots had negotiated their huge machine down until its broad green belly was mere feet above the water. They had no diver's hook, and so Meyer was stretched out flat along the door track. One hand held onto the wheel's axle, the other trailed downward. Only Quiddis held him from inside the helicopter. The doorguards fired nervously into the firelit bay.
The right wheel wobbled and dipped into the water as the pilot tried to swing Meyer closer to the stragglers in the water. Dana pushed Paddy off and away, toward Meyer. His weight drove her under, and the burning seawater choked her as she gasped for air. But Meyer took hold of Paddy, and dragged him upward. Soun leaned out the door, and grabbed his soldier by the scruff of his shirt. Between the two, they manhandled the wayward SEAL into the chopper.
Dana's hands were full with Mulder. She'd divested herself of the heavy satchel and clips before diving into the Gulf, but she still couldn't kick hard enough to keep both Agents above water for long. Fox tried to yell to her, but the rotor wash crushed his words before they reached her ears.
Then the Blackhawk swept back in, nosing in toward the two partners still battling the waters. Dana clutched at Mulder, trying to propel him towards Meyer's waiting hand. But instead heslipped beneath her arms, using his swimmers legs to stiffly push her upwards.
Mulder yelled something at her, but was driven under as he pushed her upward. She felt an arm about her waist, pressing her toward the air. Still, he kept kicking until Meyer had a hold of her by one short arm. She was raging and yelling for them to let her go, but Meyer simply started dragging her into the helicopter.
Many hands were on her, pulling her. She was disoriented, still in shock, as one of the gunners wrapped her in a rough blanket. She shouted at Meyer, gesturing for the SEAL to grab Mulder. Nothing was forthcoming, so she dived across the pitching helicopter for the door. The door gunner pinned her arms, holding her back from the open portal. The wind cut into her, freezing her to the core. But it was nothing to the chill she felt looking at the black, frothing waters.
"Damnit! Mulder!" Dana called out, shouting into the ocean from her bucking vantage point aboard the Blackhawk. "Mulder!"
Meyer squirmed from where he lay along the door jamb, shaking off Quiddis angrily. Without further word, he leaned backwards out the door and slid into the water, leaving no splash.
The SEAL dove, kicking himself deep into the cold water. The salt water would burn his eyes, so he kept them closed. It was purely a matter of touch now, and he hoped Mulder hadn't drifted sideways underwater.
His lungs screamed at him, and he fought an urge to inhale. Instead, he kept breathing out as he descended. From the weight squeezing in on his head and chest, he knew he'd reached his limits, and he turned himself about. Kicking for the sky, he erupted out of the water halfway and choked as he sucked in air
Without pause, he hyperventilated and dove again. This time he angled away from the helicopter, kicking closer to the oil rig. The idea that those dark things might indeed swim scared him endlessly, but he couldn't leave a team mate behind. Mulder may not be military, but Meyers knew that the one promise America made was that you'd come home. Dead or alive, we bring ours home.
Meyers kicked, and kicked again, using his arms to steer. One outstretched hand hit something soft, and closed about some cloth. Meyer pulled the form to him, and kicked upward. The limp mass he dragged slowed him, and he wondered if he'd make it to the air again.
His chest cried out, and the pounding in his head started to fade. No, he thought. If I blackout, we're both dead in the water. Literally. Meyer stopped kicking, letting buoyancy drag him to the surface. He had to conserve whatever air he had left.
He felt as though he were accelerating through darkness, when suddenly the air and wind bit him like a lover. Gagging and choking, Meyer floated there for a moment, spitting up bile. Meyer thanked God, and started driving for the rig.
He held Mulder face up, his hand under the Agent's chin. This wasn't the most powerful stoke he could think of, but maybe Mulder was still alive . . . Meyer reached the helicopter, crying as the hands reached down to drag Fox into the freezing air. Then it was Meyer's turn, and he had not thought it could get any colder.
The helicopter swept up and away from the lonely, dark water and clawed for altitude with its wide blades. The jet engine hummed and sang and pushed Meyer fully awake. The water chilled him so deeply, he wanted to slip into sleep immediately.
Instead he focused on Dr. Scully, hunched over her partner on the helicopter's deck. He was starting to get used to the sight by now.
Dana pumped the last of the water out of Mulder, working his back and chest. Meyers flinched as he heard Fox's shoulder grind and pop under her hands. The SEALs rolled Mulder over onto his back, and Dana waved a shaking, wet hand at Quiddis. "Start a cardiac massage!"
Scully bent over him, and tilted his head back. She opened his mouth and moved his limp tongue to one side, pinching his cold nose shut, she started breathing in time with the Lieutenant's pressure on Mulder's chest.
Trying to force air into Mulder's huge lungs sucked all the wind from Dana's sails, and she started seeing spots as she gasped for air between puffs into his slack mouth. Quiddis pounded on Mulder's chest, and Scully covered Fox's mouth with her own again.
A pause, and she stopped to listen to Mulder's chest. His heart was beating again, the pacemaker reset by the rhythmic pounding. But he still wasn't breathing, and had gone cyanotic.
"Breathe damn you! Just one breath, Fox!" She resumed CPR, losing all track of time as she fought for him. Just forcing air past his cold lips, and panting for air herself. Let Quiddis force the air out, she had only to breathe.
Dana pulled back sharply, and slapped Mulder hard. Then again, wishing her hand left a red mark on his cold blue face. When it didn't, she returned to breathing for him. She blew again into his mouth, feeling his chest rise under her.
Then he gasped into her mouth, choking. Dana pulled back, cradling his head. Fox choked, and coughed up more salty seawater. He tried to reach out blindly, but couldn't move his freezing arms and legs.
Dana turned her face down toward her partner, holding him tightly while Quiddis wrapped blankets about him. Mulder shivered against her, and the beads of water dripping from her hair fell onto his lined face. After a few moments, Mulder glanced weakly up at Dana.
In the darkness, only the red light from the cockpit touched her, and he couldn't see the tear tracks for the water on her face. "Guess I'm back." He managed to croak it out through a throat so rough it clenched up at his words.
"You're back Mulder. And so am I." The SEALs turned aside, knowing that this was part of the team they were not privy to.
Mulder glanced up at Dana, fighting for words. He couldn't say a fraction of what he wished to, and it tore at him. As it always did. "Can't avoid a hospital this time, huh?"
"No." Scully had to smile, despite the keen pain. It was like him, to worry about that kind of triviality. "And I'm glad too."