Passage.

Glasgow, Kentucky.

May 19, 2010.

Mulder was barely awake. He had spent the night plagued by nightmares again. He had only slept a few hours in the grainy hours of the early morning, but he had been awakened at dawn by his host stomping up the stairs like an excited child. He shuffled his way through his morning routine and climbed into the middle row of Gene's van, anticipating a few more guests. Gene had told him the names, but it was too early for that kind of information to stick.

One by one, they picked up the other scientists in their little expedition wagon. Russell Pierce was the first. He looked like a high school kid at first glance, but when he spoke his intelligence was evident – and so was his dorkiness. He started jabbering about arthritis in cows and it didn't end until they made their second stop to pick up a young woman. Helena Mustard was more cynical and anti-supernatural than Scully was, but she went on and one about mites like they were the chosen race. One monologue ended and the two of them started bickering, like they were picking up on an argument they had had the last time they were together. Mulder just watched them, picking up the details but not engaging. He was a little leery of the can of pepper spray hanging around the woman's neck, and even more hesitant when she threatened to kill Russell with the contents of her first aid kit – a murder that would be quite ironic.

His third guest was an older man with distinctive Native American features. He introduced himself as John and sat beside Mulder, serving as a buffer between the irked scientists. Gene seemed very pleased to see him, and his presence made the others fall into silence.

"Betty has told me a lot about you," John said, giving Mulder a sidelong glance. "She holds you in high regard. I told her I would send you her way, if we survive this trip."

Mulder winced internally. Betty Olsen was his biggest fan, and the whole reason he had come out here in the first place. She had told Gene about him. "How do you know Betty?" he wondered. He had seen pictures of the woman behind the emails – a middle-aged, muscular bar owner with way too much free time – and he couldn't draw a parallel between their faces.

"She was my friend in childhood. She lived beside the reservation."

He didn't elaborate, and Mulder sensed he was reluctant to say more. He looked at Russell instead. "So are you a biologist, like Dr. Foster?"

Russell brightened at the interaction. "I'm a trained veterinarian and ecologist. I'm actually here on a research project. I was located a bit more central, keeping tabs on the black bear population as we come into spring, but when Gene called I had to get in on this. I think one of my adult male bears might have taken up residence in that cave."

"It's not a bear," the woman said. She had her own backpack, and she threw on a sun hat as she spoke. "If anything it's a cougar."

"There are no cougars in Kentucky," Russell argued.

"He's right," Gene cut in. "There are no confirmed big cat residents in this state. Occasionally they pass through but they rarely stay. Perhaps that could be your next topic of study, Russell."

Silence.

"So what do you think of my van, Mulder?" Gene asked, waving one hand around while he kept the other on the wheel. He indicated some of the machinery up front. "It utilizes cutting edge artificial intelligence to record data for specific environments. It can predict migration patterns and droughts, and it monitors local species for changes in their everyday lives. Last year I installed a radar system to track bugs as small as fleas. I'm still working on detecting microbes with it."

"Why would you need something like that?" Mulder wondered.

"It may not sound interesting to you, but this type of data is sought after these days. People like to know what effect they are having on the environment. It cuts down on the man power needed to measure such effects." He made a face. "Also, it's very fun to play with. It can catch a kid playing hooky three streets away."

Their last stop was to pick up the ranger, who was ironically named Marshall Ellis. He was a gruff man in khaki pants with a tan as deep as a leather handbag. He took the front seat beside Gene and gave directions to an abandoned parking lot. He hopped out and severed the rusted chain blocking a back area and Gene took them down a rocky path that reminded Mulder of a boat tossing on the waves. When they finally stopped, they were face-to-face with a patch of trees. The road ended abruptly, with a few signs nailed around stating that this area was known for pitfalls.

Mulder climbed out behind John, taking a few gulps of fresh air to keep himself from getting nauseous. He hadn't expected such an unpleasant ride. The others filed out and grabbed their bags from the back, loading up for the hike. Mulder joined Gene and Marshall in the front.

"Morning," the ranger greeted him. He seemed friendly enough. He shook Mulder's hand. "I'm Marshall Ellis. I heard you would be joining us."

"Fox Mulder," Mulder responded immediately.

"Do you have any experience with caves, Mr. Mulder?"

"You can call me Mulder, and no. You can consider me a novice."

"Put your listening ears on, then," the ranger said. He leaned over to look at the others, who had formed a little cluster alongside the van. "Gather up, guys." When they were all together, the ranger pointed back to the woods, his voice falling from friendly to dead serious. "Temperature in the cave today should be around fifty degrees. I see you all brought your long sleeves and pants. We're already off to a good start. Gene here is gonna fit you with an emergency beacon. It hooks onto your backpack strap. If you fall, get lost, or find yourself in danger, twist the top of mash the button. Everyone will start beeping when that happens. Let's do a dry run."

Gene passed out the little clips, which resembled car air fresheners, and demonstrated how to get the cap off. When he hit the button, all of them started blinking a vibrant red color and beeping urgently, like bombs that were ready to go off. He put the cap back on to reset them.

"Okay, let's get moving. It's a five mile hike from here, and then a pretty slow descent once we make it to the caves. We got clear skies ahead."

The hike began in a tight cluster, but slowly the group branched out and walked yards apart, coming through different parts of the foliage as they moved toward the caves. Pierce and Helena walked together, with John walking ahead a few yards, while Mulder ended up way in the front with the ranger. Both of them took long strides and set a quick pace.

"So your name is Ranger Marshall?" Mulder asked after twenty minutes of silence.

Marshall snorted. "Gee, haven't heard that one before."

"I couldn't help myself."

"So what are you doing out here?" Marshall asked him, glancing over. "You don't seem too interested in the science. I heard you came all the way from Virginia."

"Gene contacted me. He thinks whatever is happening here is… in my ballpark."

"You know we're coming up on 48 hours for our ranger going missing. I was in that group. Searched for hours before the rain started up."

"Would rain be a problem?"

"No, no, the caves won't flood or anything like that, but when it rains a lot the river speeds up and it becomes a little dangerous. You know, slippery slopes, narrow passages. It's easy to get pulled in by the water and pushed up against the rock long enough to drown."

Mulder was trying not to think about what Deloris had said to him about her visions, but the outcast bead drowning below the others in her scarf came to mind. He swallowed and changed the subject, pushing her warning away. "Gene said the missing ranger was your friend, but I thought the rangers agreed with the press release? Just tourists being tourists?"

"Sal is my best friend. We signed up for this job together about fifteen years ago. He can walk those tunnels blind – there's no way he got lost or fell into a chasm. I think there's something down there, no joke, and I gotta find Sal before it finds him."

Mulder nodded. Gene was running around the forest with a certain glee about him – it reminded Mulder of when he'd first joined the FBI, how excited everything had made him. In reality it had been the adventure, the unpredictable circumstances, and the thrill of the chase that had drawn him in. Gene seemed to feel the same draw. He looked at everything like he was seeing it for the first time.

It was a good walk on level ground, but by the time they got to the flimsy orange fences Mulder was feeling the strain of his lack of sleep. It was almost like he'd been running all night, like his mind had never shut off. His exhaustion took the backseat when the group stopped, and his sense of adventure was renewed.

He stepped up to the edge of the orange fence, gazing down into an open cave. He could see through a few levels thanks to the brilliant sunlight, but the shadows were much blacker than he had expected. It was pitch dark in most parts. He could feel cool air rising up from within and everything looked slippery and unstable.

"It's around this way. Be careful of the edge," Marshall directed him, appraising his expression. "Are you afraid of small spaces, Mulder?"

Mulder swallowed. "Usually, no, but…"

"But what? Don't tell me you're afraid of the dark, with all of that ghost talk," Gene teased.

"I'm not afraid of the dark," he responded. He walked beside Gene along the drop off, keeping a safe distance between himself and the hungry darkness. "I guess I'm still spooked from that journal."

"Did you finish it?"

"No, I think I passed out about halfway through it. I have it downloaded – the tablet's in my backpack."

Marshall stopped suddenly at the mouth of a gaping hole in the ground. He started pointing to the others. "Okay, I'll take Russell. Gene, I want you and Mulder to pair up. Helena and John, you're a pair. Treat this like kindergarten, guys. You don't go anywhere without your buddy, not even to use the bathroom. The people who went missing wandered away from their groups – we're not gonna let that happen, okay?"

One by one they stepped to the edge, where a narrow path of rocks led down into the blackness. Each of them wore a headlamp that blinded whoever they were looking at, but it came in handy when they began the descent. Mulder was the last to come down the slope, gritting his teeth as his boots slipped down the mud and pebbles rolled ahead of him. He dug his fingers into everything he could reach, slowing himself until he felt solid rock under him.

Gene appeared at his side, his hand on his shoulder, and they looked out into the chamber. It was small, like the opening, and made of several chiseled layers of black rock. Mulder could see tunnels leading in different directions, some of them too small for squirrels to use, and some big enough for bears to lumber through. He could hear water running somewhere, and a distinct humming noise, but the sounds were muffled and he couldn't identify the source.

Marshall led them in a tight line along a narrow shelf of rock. Mulder had to duck uncomfortably to keep from ramming his forehead into the rocks jutting from the ceiling. Gene was behind him, his hand on his backpack, and he was holding onto Russell, who was directly behind their guide. Helena and John formed the caboose.

For a while they walked through darkness, half-bent under a low ceiling, avoiding sharp edges, tripping over the ridiculously uneven ground, and switching passageways. Mulder stumbled often, finding his body type incompatible with this kind of exploration. His limbs were too long, his shoulders too wide – dodging one thing often led him to crash into something else. Gene was small enough to avoid almost everything by simply walking carefully, and the other scientists were also smaller than Mulder, particularly Helena, who could've passed for a mouse. Only the ranger felt his pain, but he was so accustomed to the caves that despite being lanky he traversed them like he had been raised in them.

When the passages finally opened up, it was a cause for celebration. Six dim headlamps scanned a vast cavern. Mulder could barely make out the other side, and even then he was sure what he was looking at was a rock formation and not a cave wall. The group stood on a shelf of rock overlooking a hole in the Earth – unable to see the bottom, the sides, or the roof. Their lights were too weak to penetrate the blackness. He only knew it was massive because of the airflow, and the echo that their breathing produced.

He was staring out into a vast unknown, and it genuinely terrified and excited him.

"We're going down from here," Marshall whispered, dropping to his bottom and sliding to the edge of the shelf. He felt around with his feet. "Let me find the access point."

Mulder carefully checked the ground, and then stepped up to the edge of the rock, trying to slow his racing heart. He felt a great space ahead but he couldn't understand it. It was like looking out at the sky, at the stars, but being close enough to touch them.

Gene touched his shoulder, standing a little further back then he was. His headlamp blinded him for a moment before he looked away. "Sorry. Can you step back?" he murmured. "You shouldn't stand so close to the edge."

He obliged, stepping into the wall. He banged his head on the ceiling and recoiled. "Believe me, I don't like me so close to the edge, but the walls hate me."

He could only see the glare of the scientist's light. "Fox, you were not made for this."

"I noticed."

"You're going to be black and blue before we make it out of here."

Someone shushed them, and they both turned toward the others. He could see the head of the Marshall as he disappeared over the edge, and Russell was sitting down in preparation to follow. He beckoned to them.

From the bottom, Marshall whispered. "Helena, you come after Russell. If you slip, I'll catch you."

Mulder peaked over the edge, twisting his headlamp to see the ledge they were climbing to. It was directly below them, tucked into the rock a little. Marshall was looking up at them.

"What if I slip?" Mulder wondered.

Russell grimaced dramatically, and then turned and lowered himself down. Helena glanced at the others, making the same expression, and then she sat down and let her feet dangle. Mulder stooped beside her, his hand on her shoulder, and looked wearily at the ledge again.

"I'm holding onto you," he warned, getting on his belly and holding onto her backpack while she wiggled her way down the rocks. He slid as far as he could before he had to let her go, and moments later he heard her hit the ground below. "You alive?"

She laughed from somewhere in the recess of rocks. "I'm fine. I'm good. I think I broke my ass."

"John next," Marshall called up.

He watched the stocky man climb down next, marveling at his nonchalance. He treated the ledge like it was a two foot drop, rather than ten. Gene went down after him, panicking a little in the middle. Mulder held onto his backpack as well, glad when he landed safely at the bottom. It was finally his turn, and he had to admit that he was weary of the height. He had never been afraid of these things – darkness, high places, silence – but it seemed so much greater now than before.

He sat at the edge, cutting his palm on the rock because he was gripping it so hard. "Is there a manly way to scream if I fall?" he asked, glancing downward.

"Don't lean back and you'll be fine," Gene said.

"Well, now that you said it…" Mulder grumbled. He turned his body, lowering himself by his arms until his feet came into contact with the next step of rock. He started to climb down, aware of the incredible space all around him. One wrong move would cut this expedition short. He clung to the rocks, breathing in short bursts as he moved downward.

Moments later someone grabbed his legs and hauled him inward. He stumbled onto a new landing, one sloping away from the edge, and fell to his rubbery knees.

Gene helped him up, his headlamp blinding him. "Are you okay? You're shaking."

"I'm fine. Let's get this show on the road."

"It's all downhill from here," Marshall said, walking around the group and inspecting them. He stopped on Mulder, clasping his shoulder. "We're done with climbing for the day. Take it easy."

"I'm taking it easy – it's easy," Mulder gasped. He couldn't quite find his breath.

He ended up in the back of the line with Gene, guided only by the sway of his backpack. It got quiet again, and Mulder could hear water running deeper in the cave. The lower they went, the colder it became. As it was, they were shivering, and walking became a chore. Mulder turned up his headlamp so it would warm his forehead.

He had words echoing in his mind, an eloquent French script from the journal he had been reading all night. It bled from the pages and pursued him in these caves – the same caves that had brought on the terror of being haunted.

I feel it, even now in the open forest, with the sun beating us down. It is hidden, and far away, so far that its cold eyes should never see our faces again, but it is still watching. It is always watching.

"This tunnel was carved out by an ocean."

Gene interrupted his trance, whispering so softly that his voice could barely be heard over the sound of the group marching. He was breathing heavily, hunching down a little bit as he went, but he still managed to look excited when he turned back to Mulder. He slowed down a bit, putting three extra feet between them and the others.

"See these grooves?" he went on, running his hand along the beautiful, patterned wall. "Each one represents a different time period, when the current was going in another direction. Just a slight shift can change the whole pattern of erosion."

"Do you think we'll find a caveman frozen in the bottom?"

"Well that would certainly be a discovery," Gene chortled. He slowed a little more, panting, and ran his thumb across a rough stone pillar that interrupted the smooth cave. "And look at this. This is a salt deposit, shaped by a drip that has been going on for millions of years. Go ahead and lick it."

Mulder was glad for the opportunity to stop. He leaned over his knees. Each breath was painfully cold and thin, like the air was losing its quality the further down they went. It also tasted like rock, like he was breathing in sediment. "You lick it," he responded.

"Oh, and look over here." Gene grabbed him by the shoulder and dragged him to the other side of the tunnel, where the walls were scraped up. "This could very well be the remains of a petroglyph. Can you imagine finding an intact pictogram? It would shed some light on human evolution and dispersion. I should photograph this wall."

"Knock yourself out," Mulder said.

He waited, his eyes on the fading lights of their group. It was a long, straight tunnel, so the lights only grew dimmer, never completely vanishing. He knew that if Scully were with him, he would be anxious to return to the others, but he was not. He had his buddy, after all. Marshall only had one rule about this cave – stay with your buddy.

For several minutes, his companion went from one side of the cave to the other, taking pictures of the scratch marks, of the salt columns, and of the grooves lining the walls. Mulder followed him like a shadow, finding his own amusement in the masses of slugs hiding in every crevice.

"Look, a slug orgy," he said, pointing to one of the cracks so Gene could see it. He dragged the scientist away from his precious documentation. "Don't you want a picture of that?"

Gene leaned in, making a face, and then he snapped a quick picture of it on his phone. Mulder confiscated the phone and tried to send the picture to Scully, frowning when it refused to load.

"You do realize we're under several thousand tons of rock, right?" Gene wondered.

"It'll send when I get service again. Are you done taking pictures?"

"Yes, we should catch up with the others."

When they finally stopped for the day, his watch told him it was well into the night, but the cave told him it had been night all along. Marshall set up an artificial campfire near a smooth, curved section of the cave wall and everyone sat around it, looking weary. It gave them enough light to turn off their headlamps and move around safely for about ten feet, but after that the cave was enveloped in shadow, and there was no telling what awaited the unprepared.

He sat next to the light with Russell, who was using a variety of bandages to close the wounds on his face and shoulders. He was sure that Mulder had a concussion because he refused to join in on the conversation about cave mites. Gene sat at the edge of the light, flipping through pictures on his camera and smiling fiendishly as he captioned and timestamped them.

Marshall came over to them, crouching down. He handed him his water bottle. "Here, Mulder, you need to drink some of this. It might help with that headache."

He downed half the bottle in one breath, recoiling when the taste hit him. It was gritty, like the ranger had mixed sugar and salt into it. He held it in the light and watched the particles dance around. "Is this saltwater?"

"One part sugar and salt, three parts water."

"Why would anybody drink that?" Helena asked, coming up from air in the discussion about her favorite organisms. Her voice was grating. "You're one of those health freaks, aren't you?"

Marshall shrugged. "Keeps me from dehydrating."

It was quiet for a little while. Russell finished covering him in bandages, Helena finally stopped talking about the cave mites, and Gene cackled to himself instead of cackling at others. Mulder unfolded his sleeping bag and burrowed into it, enjoying the warmth. It was one of those subzero bags, made for arctic exploration. His companions drifted into their sleeping bags as well, falling asleep one at a time and joining the symphony of soft breathing.

He stayed awake, alone, for a while, his arms folded behind his head, gazing up at a ceiling he could not see. He wondered if dozens of pointed rocks were poised to kill him, or if the rocks were smooth up there, part of some old waterway that Gene would discover the next day.

Hours later, he heard water moving nearby.

He sat up, gazing at a massive, black river that suddenly dominated the cavern. It curved close to him, its shore almost reaching his sleeping bag. Had this been here the whole time? He must have missed it on the way in. Or perhaps they had moved the camp.

From the mouth of the river drifted an elegant, ghostly boat. It made the water glow as it passed, creating a luminescent path across the placid surface. It was occupied by hooded figures that rowed without paddles, and in the back the tallest and most menacing of them stood over the precession. His hood was so black that he seemed to have no face.

Scully was sitting sideways on the front, her bare feet hanging over the water. She was wearing that dress again, as white as fresh snow. She stared at him as the boat passed, turning to watch him as they headed for another tunnel. Her face was as pale as death, her eyes wide and questioning. She seemed afraid, but Mulder could not bring himself to speak. He just beheld her, and the phantasmal boat, as they vanished into the darkness.

He woke as the boat was swallowed by shadow. He sat up, cutting on his headlamp to reassure himself that there was no river in this cavern. Instead of going back to sleep, his took out his tablet and pulled up the story of explorer. He scrolled past the last paragraph he had been reading, skimming ahead to make sure it didn't mention that dream.

His breath caught.

I dreamt of her again last night, this time carted on a ferry of souls with Death looming over her. I feel that the creature is taunting me with images of her death.

Mulder shut it down, stuffing it back in his backpack. He knew that he had not read that part. He had not seen those words until just now – there was no way he could have projected them into his dreams. Whatever this thing was – poltergeist or creature – it was messing with him. He could not shut his eyes. He could not escape the cold dagger in his back.