|
*****
Mulder was miserable. His brain was stagnating, his body
literally thrumming with the need for activity. His leg bounced
up and down, seemingly of its own volition. He couldn't even
pace, tethered as he was to that hateful machine. He briefly
entertained the notion that he had died, been judged guilty of
numerous sins, and been sentenced to spend eternity here, in his
own personal hell. His eyes wandered around the small prison-
like room, inexorably drawn back to his wrist and the watch that
dwelled there. Two minutes had elapsed since the last time he
had checked. Odd how perception seemed to change the speed of
time - universal invariant, my ass, he mused. He laughed
humorlessly; maybe he should open an X-File on it. He could
already see Scully's expression...with an effort; he pulled his
attention back to the droning conversation taking place in his
ear. Heaven forbid he misses any incriminating statements that
might be made. Another glance at his watch. A sigh. Only one
hour and forty-three minutes until his tour in hell ended. At
least tonight he would see Scully. She had invited him over for
dinner. He briefly wondered why, considered the possibility that
it was probably because she felt sorry for him, then dismissed
the reason as being irrelevant; he would get to see her and talk
to her and that was the important thing. It hurt to admit just
how much he missed her. God, he wanted the X-Files back and her
at his side, where she belonged. He had thought that he liked
being alone, depending on himself with no additional emotional
baggage, but somehow she had walked into his office and changed
all that. Hell, after the disaster at Arecibo, he had even
admitted to her that he had nothing except himself, his work, and
her, though he still wasn't sure where she fit in his life. He
knew he needed her, feared he used her, and, in his more
introspective moods, wondered if he was in love with her.
An hour and forty-two minutes later, his shift in hell had ended
and he had sped home, taken a quick run through his neighborhood
to burn off excess energy, showered, and shaved. Now he stood at
Scully's door feeling strangely ill at ease as he waited for her
to answer his knock. Dressed casually in jeans, a faded red
pullover, and sneakers, he reminded himself to keep his outlook
positive. He had vowed to leave his pathetic, poor me attitude
at the office. He smiled and adjusted his gaze downward to meet
her eyes as she opened the door and invited him in. He sometimes
forgot just how small she really was. With her hair hastily
gathered in a ponytail, barefoot, and in jeans and a baggy t-
shirt, she looked more like someone's kid sister than the
competent agent he knew her to be. Sometimes he wondered if he
didn't subconsciously see her as his little sister. It was kind
of amazing how changing into killer high heels and a power suit
made her seem so formidable. He smiled to himself as a brief
image of her changing personas in a telephone booth flitted
through his mind.
"C'mon in, Mulder, have a seat. Dinner is almost ready. Let me
pop the rolls in." With those words she left him standing just
inside the entry.
It was interesting being in Scully's apartment. He'd rarely been
inside, and one of those occasions was when he'd arrived just in
time to interrupt an unscheduled liverectomy. The brightness
seemed somehow antipodal to the basement office they shared and
the dark cases they investigated, certainly nothing like the
cave-like sanctuary he preferred. He perused the family pictures
placed here and there. This was a side of Scully he didn't
really know, even though they'd been working together for over a
year now. He was probably closer to her than anyone else in his
life, he'd die for her, had put his life on the line for her, and
yet, in so many ways, he barely knew her.
"Mulder, what would you like to drink? I've got wine, beer, iced
tea, and, of course, water."
"Um, I'll have a beer."
A moment later, Scully emerged from the kitchen, two beers
clutched in her fists. "Here you go, Mulder. Dinner will be
ready in ten." She settled on the couch, and he quickly dropped
into the adjacent chair. "So, how was your day?"
"Great, if you like listening to a bunch of old bald guys
inflating their sexual exploits."
"Mulder, you haven't been eavesdropping on AD Skinner again, have
you?"
Mulder just barely avoided the embarrassment of spewing beer all
over both of them. "Jesus, Scully! Warn me before you say
something like that." He grinned at her unexpected levity.
Scully grinned back, pleased to see him loosening up. "We're
having spaghetti pasta topped with a vegetarian marinara sauce.
It's my mom's recipe. I hope you like it."
"I can guarantee I'll like anything that didn't come directly
from a box or can."
"Well, how about we move this conversation to the dinner table,
then? The rolls should be about done." Now that the ice was
broken, Mulder relaxed, enjoying the opportunity to banter with
Scully. He'd missed that almost as much as the X-Files. The
dinner was delicious, and the night passed pleasantly with the
two former partners lapsing into their usual roles, a nice
respite from his regular routine.
As he was preparing to leave, Scully looked him straight in the
eye and surprised him by asking how he was doing. Remembering
his promise to himself, he smiled and assured her that he was
fine, but she was Scully and knew him too well to be fooled by
his facade. She stepped forward and gave him a brief hug that
nearly undid him before assuring him that she, at least, was
confident the X-Files would be re-opened. "After all," she
offered with a small smile, "where else are they going to find
people to track down giant mutant flukes? But, Mulder, next time
A.D. Skinner gives you something to do besides listen to wiretap
tapes, make sure you put your best foot forward. Questioning his
motives for assigning you a case, especially when he wasn't
alone, was not your brightest move ever. If we're going to get
the X-Files back, we can't afford to alienate ourselves from the
mainstream any more than we already have."
Mulder liked hearing her say 'we', but grimaced at the reminder
of his less than circumspect behavior towards Skinner during that
case. Sure, they had solved the case, and he suspected that
there wasn't another agent in the Bureau who would have been able
to deal with the flukeman, but Scully was right. His
contumacious behavior hadn't made any points with Skinner. There
wasn't much he could say except, "You're absolutely right,
Scully. The next time Skinner gives me a case, I'll be the
Dudley Do-Right of the FBI."
Scully smiled, whispering, "I'll believe it when I see it," as
she ushered him out the door.
*****
Scully was just getting ready to leave for lunch when the phone
rang, and she was surprised to hear a very excited Mulder on the
line. He almost never called her these days. "It's Mulder," he
unnecessarily and uncharacteristically announced before launching
into an enthusiastic explanation of why he was calling. She
listened as he explained that Skinner had called him in and
assigned him a case. For a while, at least, he was off wiretap
and even better, Skinner wanted Scully to fly out with him.
"Skinner wants you to take today to get your classes covered and
tie up any loose ends. I hope the short notice won't be a
problem. He already checked with your supervisor and got the
okay for you to consult on the autopsy. Our flight leaves at
11:30, so I was thinking I would pick you up at your apartment.
Can you be ready by nine?"
Scully suppressed a chuckle at his exuberance and interrupted his
monolog, "Okay, Mulder, I should be able to wrap things up here
and be ready by nine tomorrow, but where are we going and what's
the case?"
"We're going to Louisiana, Scully. Slidell, Louisiana, to be
exact. David Thibodeaux, a geneticist, was murdered there last
night. Well, the official word is that he may be one in a series
of murders, but so far I don't see that. I think the serial
murder thing is just an angle to justify federal involvement.
We'll be doing the preliminary investigation. About all the
locals have done so far is bag the body and check the area around
it for evidence. Apparently, the current victim was a friend of
a friend of the Director's. You know how those things go,
Scully."
"Yeah, Mulder, I do know how those things go." Scully's Mulder-
sense was on full alert now. This just didn't add up. She knew
how Mulder hated Bureau politics. Having a murder made into a
federal case, literally, just because the victim was a friend of
a friend of the Director's would normally have seriously rankled
her partner. Of course, Mulder wasn't really her partner
anymore, and maybe he was just so damned glad to get off wiretap
that any case would look good to him, but she had a funny feeling
that wasn't what was happening this time. He certainly hadn't
reacted this way to the flukeman case. "You seem awfully excited
about this case - all things considered. Is there anything you
aren't telling me?"
There was a brief hesitation, just long enough to make Scully
even more suspicious, before Mulder replied, "I just can't wait
to get out of this town. And, Scully, did I mention crawfish?
With just a dash of McIlhenny's hot sauce, they can't be beat."
Mulder's response did nothing to dampen her suspicions. She
couldn't help but notice that he hadn't really answered her
question. Well, Mulder was Mulder, and she would have to wait
until he was good and ready to tell her the rest of the story, so
she let it drop, promising to be ready by nine and adding a
cautionary, "Mulder, if this case has political overtones and
ties to the Director, it's going to be even more important that
you..."
"I know, I know, Scully," he interrupted, "it's going to be more
important than ever that I put my best foot forward. And,
Scully, the best thing is that you're going to be there to make
sure I do just that." Then he characteristically hung up without
saying goodbye. Somehow, that made her feel a little better.
*****
Six hours and one layover later, they landed in New Orleans.
"Welcome to Louisiana," Mulder intoned, "home of Mardi Gras,
jambalaya, bayous, hot sauce, and big-assed alligators."
"And really hot and muggy weather," added Scully, whose clothes
were already sticking to her body despite the late afternoon
hour. She would be glad to pick up the requisite Taurus from the
local Lariat dealer and get to their hotel in Slidell.
*****
The agents were up early the next morning, ready to meet and play
nice with the local constabulary. Of course, it was almost a
given that the locals wouldn't be happy to see them. Federal
intervention was rarely welcomed, and in this instance, even the
agents themselves couldn't concoct a reasonable explanation for
their presence. They presented their credentials to the desk
sergeant and were immediately directed to the Chief's office.
Scully met Mulder's eyes briefly before knocking on the closed
door. The unspoken message was clear - behave. Chief Vincent
Melancon was an imposing figure, standing about 6'4" and making
Skinner look under-developed. He stood and shook hands with the
two agents, invading their space as he welcomed them to town and
assured them that they would have the complete cooperation of the
Slidell Police Department. The hulking figure hovering over his
head gave Mulder some idea of how Scully must feel on a daily
basis. Pleasantries exchanged, the Chief quickly moved onto the
crux of their visit. "I understand that Agent Scully is a
pathologist and will be conducting an autopsy on the victim, not
that there is much doubt about what killed him."
Mulder thought he heard the slightest bit of tightness in
Melancon's voice as the Chief delivered that last statement, but
all in all, he felt Melancon was doing an admirable job of
covering up his real feelings, which probably ran along the lines
of, what the hell are you assholes doing investigating a case
which clearly doesn't come under federal jurisdiction? Mulder
was impressed with his professionalism.
"I have assigned Claude - Lieutenant Hebert - to assist both of
you with logistics and information. He and Detective Robichaux
of the St. Tammany Parish Sheriff's department handled the
initial investigation. We don't get a lot of murders here in
Slidell, but Claude is a good police officer. I thought it would
expedite things to have him drive you around, since he is
familiar with all the locales."
"We appreciate your assistance and look forward to working with
Lieutenant Hebert," Mulder smoothly responded. "Could he perhaps
drop Scully off at the morgue to conduct the autopsy, and then
maybe he and I could swing by the murder site?"
"I am sure that won't be a problem."
"I would like to speak with Thibodeaux's wife today, and his
employer tomorrow, if that's possible?" He was thinking Scully's
expertise would be helpful when questioning the scientists at
NexGen. Then, just when Scully thought things were going
perfectly, Mulder nervously caught her eye before continuing,
"and Chief Melancon, would it be possible for Agent Scully to
also autopsy the latest victim in the unexplained Honey Island
Swamp deaths?"
Melancon paled noticeably before responding, "I don't really see
that your jurisdiction in the murder of David Thibodeaux
justifies your involvement in the 'unexplained Honey Island Swamp
deaths,' as you call them. So far, all indications are that
those deaths were a result of natural causes."
Mulder saw Scully's eyes widen slightly in surprise and then
narrow in anger, but he was certain she would never call him out
in front of the locals. So, ignoring her clear disapproval at
having been left in the dark, he pressed his request, explaining,
"I am aware of that, but I believe there may be a connection
between the murder of Thibodeaux and the Honey Island deaths,
and," he bluffed, "I am sure you would prefer to maintain a low
profile on this rather than force me to contact Washington."
Mulder knew he had won the round when Melancon smiled tightly and
bit out, "Of course, Agent Mulder, whatever the Federal Bureau of
Investigation wants. Let me go get Claude now, and you can get
started." A man didn't stay Chief of Police in Slidell,
Louisiana, if he didn't know when to compromise.
As soon as the door slipped shut behind Melancon, Scully
predictably called Mulder on his failure to keep her informed.
"Look, Scully, I'm sorry. Really, really sorry, but I was afraid
you wouldn't come if I told you the whole story, and I wanted -
no, I needed you here to conduct these autopsies. Scully, you
are the best there is. If anyone can figure this out, you can.
Please, Scully, this is important. You just have to trust me on
this."
"Trust, Mulder! What was that about trust? I'm supposed to
trust you, but you don't even trust me enough to share the real
reason you wanted to come here?"
Uh-oh - he never should have brought up the trust word. Mulder
locked gazes with her, disconcerted by the depth of the hurt he
saw reflected in her eyes. God, what if he had gone too far this
time? What if she just walked out on him? "You're right,
Scully, I shouldn't have kept this from you. But please, do the
autopsy for me. I'll tell you everything tonight, and if you
still want to go back to Washington, I'll understand completely.
Scully, I just...." Mulder dropped the conversation as the Chief
walked back into the room.
"Lieutenant Hebert is waiting for you in the lobby. Good day to
you both."
Hebert drove them over to the morgue. It was a short drive and
no words were exchanged, but, to Mulder, Scully's disapproval and
hurt were clearly audible. He asked the detective to wait while
he ran in with his partner, ostensibly to make sure they were
ready for her. Once out of earshot, Scully turned her coldest
glare on him, the one that made him feel like the blood in his
veins was turning to ice, the one that garnered her the name "the
Ice Queen." "Mulder, I am going to do the autopsy for you, and I
am going to review the autopsy results on the other victims you
mentioned. But you had best have a complete explanation, and it
better be good, or I will be on the next plane out of here."
*****
After the visit to the crime scene and the interview with Mrs.
Thibodeaux, Mulder thanked Hebert for his assistance and asked to
be dropped back at his rental. He planned to spend the rest of
the day putting together his thoughts on the case while he waited
for Scully to finish the autopsies. It would be a long day for
her. He hoped she had learned something, and that he'd be able
to garner her forgiveness. At times, he seemed to be his own
worst enemy, getting so focused on his own agenda that he used
people. Even Scully wasn't immune. He'd ditched her and lied to
her - not direct lies, but lies of omission. It was a
contradiction. He knew he trusted her with his life, but
apparently he didn't trust her with his quest. Still, he didn't
want to think about what he would do if she refused to work with
him. It was painful enough when the powers that be separated
them, but he was sufficiently insightful to realize that he would
be devastated if she ordered him out of her life. He needed her.
With little new information to occupy him, the afternoon dragged
on as he fretted over his upcoming confrontation with Scully.
Over the last hour, his fears had ratcheted ever upward until he
was convinced she had walked out on him and returned to
Washington. It was certainly what he deserved. Finally, his
phone rang, and he nervously answered, "Mulder."
He smothered his sigh of relief when Scully responded in a semi-
civil tone, "All done here, Mulder. I am ready to be picked up,
and to hear your explanation."
"On my way," he responded, before cutting the connection. He
could tell she was still mad and probably still hurt, but at
least she had done as he asked and appeared to be willing to
listen to his explanation.
They rode back to hotel in less than companionable silence.
Scully watched as Mulder alternately pursed and chewed his lips,
no doubt organizing his thoughts for the upcoming confessional.
Mulder kept his eyes focused on the road, fervently hoping Scully
was in a forgiving mood. Once back at the hotel, by unspoken
agreement, they both went to Scully's room, where she sat down in
the only available chair, crossed her arms over her chest, and
waited. Mulder paced back and forth across the room, looked out
the large front window, and fiddled with the curtains until he
successfully blocked the small sliver of light from the setting
sun. Only then did he shift his attention back to his angry
partner. She remained unmoving, still holding the same defensive
posture.
"Ok, Scully," he began somewhat lamely, "I'm sorry for deceiving
you. I know it was wrong, and I hope you forgive me. You're
absolutely right when you say trust is a two way street."
"Mulder...," Scully started to interrupt.
But Mulder held up his hand, effectively silencing her. "No,
just wait, Scully. Let me tell you everything. Then you can
make your decision. The night before Skinner assigned me this
case, I got an anonymous e-mail. I asked the Lone Gunmen to see
if they could trace it, but they had no luck. Here it is."
Mulder reached into his pocket, withdrew a sheet of paper, and
handed it to her.
Agent Mulder,
You are needed in Louisiana. Two people have
already died in the Honey Island Swamp. There
will be more. Start with NexGen.
A Friend of your cause
"I asked The Lone Gunmen to look into the Nexgen Corporation and
the swamp deaths for me. I was planning to take a few vacation
days to come down and have a look, but first thing Monday
morning, Skinner called me in and handed me this case. He was
sending me to Slidell, Louisiana, a town that, coincidentally,
lies on the outskirts of the Honey Island Swamp, to investigate
the murder of a man who, even more coincidentally, happens to
work for NexGen. The Gunmen weren't able to learn much. NexGen
is a small company, privately funded, and provides onsite grants
for scientists to pursue sabbatical research in areas deemed
important to improving the quality of human life. Profit doesn't
seem to be a vital concern. The corporate motto is, 'Engineering
a better life for tomorrow.' They also weren't able to learn
much about the swamp deaths. Three people have now died. There
is no indication of foul play so far. Well, you probably know
more about the deaths than I do, since you reviewed the files on
the earlier deaths and autopsied the last victim."
"Mulder, why can't you tell me what's going on up front? You
feed me clues one at a time as if I were on a treasure hunt
instead of an investigation. I'm not going to put up with
continuously being left in the dark about what we are
investigating, until circumstances force you to tell me what's
really going on."
"I know I should have told you, Scully, and I really am sorry. I
don't know what I was thinking. When Skinner said you would be
accompanying me, I was so happy. It would be just like old
times. I was going to tell you about the note, but then it all
sounded so absurd that I just couldn't seem to find a way to
bring it up." Seeking eye contact, Mulder had knelt in front of
her, placed his hands on her knees, and looked up at her,
beseeching her to forgive him, to stay with him. Mulder was very
good at playing the poor puppy dog.
Scully couldn't miss the regret in his gaze, but she knew that
even though he was completely sincere in his apology, he would do
it again. He couldn't help it. His quest clouded his judgment
and made him forget that she had earned his trust; it made him
see her as just one more person to be manipulated in his single-
minded search for the truth that he inevitably thought was always
"out there." Even recognizing this, she couldn't leave him. She
was his partner - not because of a Bureau assignment, but because
fate had somehow decreed it. Her logical side might say go, yet
she knew she would stay. She wouldn't forget how he had used
her, but she would still forgive him. Exactly why she put up
with him was her own personal X-file, one she wasn't ready to
investigate too closely. She uncrossed her arms and bent over,
gently kissing him on the forehead. And somehow that small kiss
conveyed more intense feelings than many lovers expressed in
their most passionate assignations. "Mulder, try to remember
that we're in this together. I can't be effective if you persist
in providing me with only some of the available information."
Mulder looked up and smiled, his world back in balance. "I'll do
better, Scully. I promise."
Then Scully stood, ending the emotional moment. "Okay, Mulder,
do you want to hear about the autopsy results?"
"Definitely," he responded, as he stood and flopped onto her bed,
arms behind his head.
"Well, as far as David Thibodeaux goes, the autopsy was pretty
straightforward. Like Chief Melancon said, there's not much
question as to the cause of death when the guy's chest has been
plowed through by a couple of bullets. Neither of the two shots
hit his heart, so death wouldn't have been instantaneous. He
probably died from the resultant blood loss. Both bullets lodged
in the body. So far, we know that they came from a 9 mm handgun.
The ballistic reports should be ready by tomorrow. The body was
no longer in rigor mortis when it was discovered, so he must have
been dead for at least 14 hours, but probably no more than 18
hours. With the high humidity and temperature, you could expect
the body to decay pretty rapidly. Body temperature supports this
estimate. How does that fit in with what you learned today?"
"The body was found in an alley not too far from his house.
There wasn't a whole lot to see. According to Lieutenant Herbert
and my examination of the crime scene photos, there was very
little blood at the site. If he bled to death, he must've been
killed somewhere else and moved to the alley. We spoke to his
wife after visiting the crime scene. She said she last talked to
him around 6 PM. He had called to let her know he'd arrived at
the NexGen Field Facility safely. Her caller ID substantiates
this. He called from the lobby phone, since cell service is
nearly non-existent out there. She had thought he spent the
night there until she heard otherwise. Apparently, he pulls a
lot of all-nighters at the lab. It's a pretty long drive out
there, and his work was his life. Nobody knows anything else
about his whereabouts until the delivery boy found his body the
following morning at ten."
"Between the information you got from his wife and the condition
of the body, we can narrow the time of death down to between 6
and 8 PM."
"Yeah, Scully, and it also means that he was almost certainly
killed at the research facility. That facility is a good hour
and a half from anything else. Melancon, by the way, has set up
an appointment for us to meet with the Director of NexGen at the
main facility at 8:30 tomorrow, but I think we also need to check
out their field facility. I want to find out if NexGen has a
security system that logs entrance and exit times of the
employees or if it has cameras in place that may have caught
something. I also definitely want to interview the security
guard. Enough about Thibodeaux, though. What's the verdict on
the other deaths?"
"Now, the three deaths that occurred in the Honey Island Swamp
were a little more of a challenge. The first death was a 65
year-old man. He'd been dead about 24 hours when another
fisherman came across his pirogue, floating in the bayou. The
death was ruled a heart attack. The second man was 75. This
death was also attributed to heart failure. Both men had been
camping and fishing in the Honey Island Swamp. The first man was
alone; the second was with his son. According to the son's
statement, his father became ill over a period of several hours.
He became alarmed and brought his father to the hospital, but
because of the remoteness of their location, it was nearly five
hours before they were able to get there. By then, his father
was dead. Both victims had grown up in Louisiana and were
reasonably experienced outdoorsman. Authorities didn't conduct
an autopsy on either of the bodies, although they were a little
unsettled by two deaths occurring in the same area within days of
one another."
"Scully, do you know where these men were camping?"
"Yeah, both of them were camping in the same general area. I
have the GPS coordinates for the site, if you want them. There
aren't any facilities, but it's relatively high and dry and is
apparently popular with local hunters and fishermen."
"So this could be a fairly restricted problem, geographically
speaking?"
"Yes, that's possible. Edna Gautreaux, the young woman I
autopsied today, was camping with her husband in the same area
when she became ill. She was alive but unconscious when he got
her to the hospital. The reports indicate that she was pale and
bradycardic, with extremely low blood pressure and labored
respiration. The doctors attempted to ease her breathing, but
she died of cardiac failure before the treatment was effective.
I autopsied her body today. My observations corroborate heart
failure as the cause of death. Unexplained myocarditis and
diffuse internal bleeding were also present. What we still don't
know is why a healthy young woman would suddenly fall ill and die
within hours of cardiac failure. Poison is an obvious
possibility, and her symptoms are characteristic of neurotoxin
poisoning. I sent blood samples to the Bureau lab for a full
workup, but unfortunately, until the results come back, we're in
the dark. If the tox screen shows up positive, there's the
additional question of how the toxin was delivered. There's no
evidence of snake or arachnid bites, and those are the only
venomous organisms in the region. But, Mulder, there's still no
real evidence indicating this is the result of any sort of
conspiracy or criminal behavior. There could easily be some
natural explanation, though three dead people, all of whom fell
ill while camping in the same general part of the Honey Island
Swamp, are beginning to spook the local authorities. They're
still trying to keep it quiet since tourism brings a lot of money
into the area."
Mulder listened intently, looking for the clue that would tip him
off to what had befallen these people. Clearly, he needed the
toxicology report. In the meantime, he and Scully would
interview Thibodeaux's employer, NexGen. Perhaps that visit
might shed some light on both his official and unofficial case.
He had been bluffing when he told Melancon he suspected the swamp
deaths were connected to Thibodeaux's death, but now he was
beginning to wonder. Coincidences made him suspicious.
Scully interrupted his thought processes to voice her own concern
about coincidences. "You know, Mulder, this whole thing could be
a set-up to further discredit you in the eyes of the Bureau and
make sure you never get the X-Files back. Just think about it -
Skinner sending you down here to investigate a murder that
clearly shouldn't have warranted our involvement, sending you
right where your anonymous informant wanted you to go. Mulder,
you need to be careful. We need to be careful."
Her warning resonating with his own fears, Mulder bid her a
goodnight. "Let's hope we can learn something from the folks at
NexGen tomorrow morning. Maybe we can solve this mystery without
attracting any unwanted attention."
Mulder didn't hear Scully's whisper as he closed the connecting
door behind him: "Yeah, Mulder, and maybe someday I'll see those
little gray aliens you keep talking about."
*****
NexGen was a square four-story building located just outside the
city limits. It had obviously been built for functionality, not
for beauty. Mulder and Scully entered the building, flashed
their badges at the receptionist, and asked to speak to Andrew
Collins, who was David Thibodeaux's supervisor and the director
of the facility. They were immediately ushered into his office
at the end of the hall.
Collins was younger than they had expected, with a boyish
engaging smile. His office was small and sparsely furnished. He
stood as the agents entered, stepping forward to shake hands,
first with Scully and then with Mulder. Introductions were
quickly made. Mulder noted the Ph.D. diploma from Louisiana
State University that was proudly displayed on the wall behind
the man's desk.
"While it's exciting to have a visit from FBI agents, I very much
regret the incident that brought you here. David was a respected
scientist, and his death has had a serious impact on research
here at NexGen."
"Agent Scully and I appreciate you taking the time to talk with
us."
"I certainly want to cooperate with you in any way I can."
Mulder took the lead in the questioning, deciding to start
general and work down to the more specific. "To begin with, Dr.
Collins, could you give us a brief overview of the corporation?
I did some basic research on NexGen to prepare for our visit, but
to be honest, my efforts yielded very little information."
"That is actually fairly gratifying, Agent Mulder. We like to
think we are on the cutting edge of the genetic engineering
field, and, while making money is not our primary goal, several
of our projects have the potential of bringing in millions of
dollars in patents. We therefore prefer a certain level of
secrecy regarding our research. Industrial espionage is a
constant concern for us, and unfortunately the ethics of some of
our competitors are questionable."
"Isn't it a little odd for a biotech company not to have making
money as its primary goal?"
Collins had to laugh softly at Mulder's question. "You are
absolutely correct, Agent Mulder. Most firms that are similar to
us are driven entirely by profit. I think NexGen is fortunate in
being a little different. Much of our funding is derived from
wealthy philanthropists interested in improving the future of
mankind through genetic engineering, hence our slogan,
'Engineering a Better Life for Tomorrow.' Most of our scientists
don't work directly for us, but rather, they have submitted
research proposals that NexGen has chosen to fund. We are a
somewhat unusual granting agency in that all the work is done
here, as opposed to at the home institution. If the work results
in lucrative patents, NexGen receives a share of the profits.
Our expenditures currently far exceed our profits, although we
would, eventually, like to be self-supporting. The external
funding is what makes this corporation possible. Fund raising is
one of the main requirements of my job. We currently have two
state of the art facilities, this one and our field research
facility, which is located near the Honey Island Swamp. Most of
the genetics work is done here, whereas the field testing is done
at the other site."
Mulder took this opportunity to share what he was sure would be
unwelcome news. "We would also like to visit your other facility.
New evidence has come to light that indicates Dr. Thibodeaux may
have been murdered there."
Obviously surprised, Collins interrupted, "But I thought his body
was found within a few miles of his house."
"Nonetheless, we now have evidence that he may have been murdered
at your field facility. We would like to visit that facility
this afternoon and bring along a forensics team, with your
permission. Or we could obtain a search warrant, if you would
prefer."
"No, that won't be necessary. We, myself and all of us at
NexGen, want to do whatever we can to help. I will make the
necessary arrangements. Would 2 PM be acceptable?"
"Yes, that would be fine," answered Scully. "Thank you for your
cooperation. Now, could you give us a brief synopsis of the
research projects that are currently underway? We would be
especially interested in any information you could share about
the project that Dr. Thibodeaux was working on."
"Certainly, Agent Scully. We currently have three major research
areas. There are, of course, sub-projects within each area.
Each floor of our building houses a different research area with
the exception of the first floor, which is comprised of the
lobby, security, and the administrative offices. The second
floor is home to our plant research team. We are attempting to
develop pest resistant crop plants. The current focus is on
successfully transferring the gene responsible for producing the
venom in one of the old world scorpions, Androctonus australis,
to crop plants. We're combining it with a powerful promoter and
using a bactovirus as the transferring vector. We have isolated
the venom-producing gene and introduced it into test plants, but
we are a long way from determining if these transgenic plants
will be resistant to pests. We have field trials going on right
now. Genetic engineering is not quite as precise as people
believe. The placement of the new gene within the plant's own
genes affects how it will be expressed, and that is not something
we can currently control. We are, however, cautiously optimistic.
Our second floor is devoted to mosquito research. This is the
area that David was involved with. Mosquitoes, as I am sure you
know, are important vectors for a huge number of diseases,
including malaria, West Nile, and yellow fever. We are working
on genetically engineering mosquitoes that would be incapable of
spreading these diseases. David was working with the team that
was seeking to insert a gene into mosquitoes that would prevent
West Nile Viral RNA from replicating inside the mosquito."
"Excuse me, Dr. Collins," interjected Mulder, "but do you think
any of your competitors would go so far as to murder Dr.
Thibodeaux to interfere with his research?"
"That is an interesting question. To be honest, I don't think
David was close enough to success to motivate any competing firms
to resort to murder. But I will tell you that millions of
dollars are at stake here."
"So," Scully enquired, "nothing from his office regarding his
research was removed or reported missing?"
"Not that I know of."
"What do you do on the fourth floor?" asked Mulder.
"The fourth floor is devoted to Honey Bee research."
"What kind of Honey Bee research?"
"Well, it is a little different from our other areas of research.
Basically, we are looking at the effect that genetically modified
plants might have on Honey Bees and their internal microfauna, as
well as investigating the probability of Honey Bees transferring
pollen from these plants to unmodified plants, thereby acting as
vectors and introducing the traits from the genetically modified
plants into wild populations. Therefore, we are not currently
manipulating the bee genome in anyway, although a donor
interested in funding research on some very specific
modifications to the Honey Bee genome recently approached us. If
the board had approved the project, he would have been NexGen's
largest donor. Ultimately, they rejected his proposal; they
didn't feel the research fit with the mission or ethics of our
company."
Curiosity aroused, Mulder asked, "What kind of research was this
donor interested in?"
"I'm really not at liberty to share that information, but I can
tell you he went to Roush Technologies with his proposal after we
turned him down - they are involved in similar areas of research,
though they are in it for the profit. I'm not bragging when I
tell you that we are light years ahead of them. In the last
year, we've made some real breakthroughs in technology. As I
understand it, you have also requested a tour of our facility?"
"Yes," answered Mulder. "We'd very much appreciate that. I have
some questions about your security system, especially given the
nature of your research. Perhaps as you show us around, you
could point out the security features you have in place?"
Collins began walking and gestured for the agents to follow.
"Certainly, Agent Mulder. We have security cameras in all the
hallways, though not in the specific labs, at the request of the
scientists who work there. We generally have one security guard
on duty at all times, and the system logs entrances and exits to
all the floors. We have basically the same security setup at our
field facility."
"Would it be possible for us to take a look at the videos and
logs for both of your facilities? We'd also like to know the
name of the guard on duty at your field facility the night of the
murder."
"That would be fine. I'll get you the information for this
facility before you leave. I can have someone drop the field
facility information off at Chief Melancon's office, or you can
review the time period in question while you're out there."
"I think, in the interest of time, we can review the tapes while
we're out there. We may need to take them as evidence at that
point."
"That's fine with us, Agent Mulder. Now, if you'd follow me, I
can show you David's main office."
Two hours later, the agents left the building, complete with the
requested information. As near as they could tell, Dr. Collins
had been completely open with them. He had also taken them on a
comprehensive tour of the facility. Mulder couldn't see any
connection between the swamp deaths and NexGen Corporation,
unless some of their scorpions had escaped, but then Scully would
have found the sting site during the autopsy. She didn't miss
things like that. Scully voiced her agreement; she hadn't seen a
scorpion sting during the autopsy. They'd seen a lot of high
tech equipment and men and women in white lab coats conducting
arcane experiments during their tour. "You know, Scully, some of
that stuff was kind of creepy, especially those scorpions. They
were nasty-looking creatures. And putting scorpion genes in
plants seems wrong, somehow. I didn't care for those huge
mosquito-filled enclosures, either. Seeing these things makes me
glad I'm an FBI agent and not a scientist. I sure hope they know
what they're doing, because people that fool around with Mother
Nature often end up getting bitten on the ass."
"Yeah, Mulder, it is a little unnerving." Scully was amused at
Mulder's obvious discomfort with genetic manipulation of
organisms, but even as a scientist, perhaps especially as a
scientist, she had to admit there were some very worrisome
aspects to altering an organism's DNA, essentially changing the
blueprint for life, especially in view of the many viruses and
bacteria that might spread those changes to non-target organisms,
and the possibility of causing unplanned alterations through the
disruption of other genes within the target species. "But think
of the benefits, Mulder. Imagine if we could cure genetic
disorders, eliminate the use of environment damaging pesticides,
and end the scourge of diseases like malaria and yellow fever.
It's the new frontier, and, like most frontiers, it can be
dangerous."
*****
Mulder and Scully used the rest of the morning to organize the
forensics team and bring Melancon up to speed on the
investigation before making the trip out to NexGen's Field
Research Facility. Mulder considered the guard on duty that
night, Robert Ardoin, a prime suspect in the murder of
Thibodeaux; he just needed the evidence to prove it. So far
everything was circumstantial. Ardoin would have been armed with
a 9 mm handgun. They were standard issue for all the guards, and
he'd been in the right place at the right time. The question
that remained was why.
Upon arriving at the facility, Mulder headed off for the security
surveillance office, leaving Scully to coordinate the forensics
team. "If you find something, send someone for me, else I'll
hook up with you when I finish reviewing the tapes." He was
confident that they would find the evidence they were searching
for.
"Ok, Mulder. We'll probably be awhile. This is a pretty big
area to cover. We'll start with the places where Thibodeaux
typically spent his time."
Mulder immediately settled down to work. There were ten cameras
altogether. He wasn't overly surprised to find that two of the
tapes had a blank period when the murders supposedly occurred.
One of them was the camera that recorded people entering the
building. The other was the camera monitoring the hallway
leading to the mosquito enclosures and Thibodeaux's lab. There
was nothing out of the ordinary on any of the other tapes. If
Ardoin wasn't the murderer, it certainly appeared that he was an
accessory, and Mulder was now pretty sure he knew where the
murder had occurred.
Mulder hurried down to Thibodeaux's lab, not surprised to find
the forensics team already there. "Oh, hey, Mulder. It looks
like we may have already found something. I was just going to
send someone after you. These tile floors made cleaning up after
a murder pretty easy, but it would be almost impossible for the
murderer to completely clean up the blood that soaked into the
grout. When you know what you're looking for and you have a good
light, the stains are pretty evident. We didn't even need the
luminol. It appears Thibodeaux was shot as he entered the room.
If I review the autopsy findings again, I can probably tell you
exactly where his murderer was standing. We're looking for
additional evidence now."
"That's great work, Scully. Let's leave the forensics team here
to see what else they find. With what I found on the tapes, I
think we've got enough to pick up the security guard for
questioning. Let's call Melancon and see if he can get someone
over to pick up Ardoin."
*****
It was after seven by the time the agents were able to get back
to the station, but Melancon was there waiting.
"Agent Mulder, you really think this guy we picked up is the
murderer? So far, he's doing an excellent job of playing the
outraged citizen."
"Yeah, Chief, I do. As I explained on the phone, there is a lot
of circumstantial evidence against him, and with a little luck,
the forensics team out at NexGen may come up with something that
will provide us with an ironclad case. Scully and I would like
to interrogate him right away, if that's ok with you."
"Of course. He's been cooling his heels in the interrogation
room since he was brought in, so maybe he'll be glad to have
someone to talk to. He said he doesn't need a lawyer cause he's
innocent."
"Has he been Mirandized?" inquired Scully.
"Yeah, the arresting officers read him his rights immediately.
We want to make sure we don't leave any loopholes."
The agents entered the interrogation room, and Ardoin looked up
hopefully then slumped back down when he realized they were just
more cops. He was seated in one of three wooden straight-backed
chairs, with his handcuffed hands and head resting on the table.
Mulder smirked at the stereotypical single naked light bulb that
provided the only illumination in the dingy room.
"Hello, Mr. Ardoin. I'm Agent Mulder, and this is Agent Scully.
We're with the FBI. You do know what you're here for, don't
you?"
"Umm...David Thibodeaux's death? That was tragic - he was a very
nice man."
"Well, now he's a dead nice man. I think you know more about his
death than you're letting on."
"What would I know? That night was nothing out of the ordinary
for me. I didn't even hear about what had happened until the
following day."
"Did you see Dr. Thibodeaux at the research facility the night of
his murder?"
"No."
"So the fact that we have conclusive evidence indicating he died
at the field research station the night you were on duty means
absolutely nothing to you?"
"How could he have died there? I didn't hear anything, no
struggle, no gunshots..."
"Where were you all night? Is it possible you weren't in a
position to hear anything?"
"I didn't leave the building at all, if that's what you're
insinuating. I walked the rounds like always, and as I told you
earlier, I didn't notice anything out of the ordinary."
"Does your path take you past Dr. Thibodeaux's office?"
"Yeah, I must have walked past there at least five or six times
that night."
"Do you have any idea why certain video cameras would suddenly
stop working?"
There was a noticeable pause before his reply. "Certain video
cameras? The system can be a bit shaky at times. Unstable
wiring, the sort. I tend not to worry about it too much - I can
see all I need just by walking around. It's pretty quiet out
there most nights."
I wouldn't worry about it too much, either, unless it just
happened to be the cameras that could give us the answers,
thought Mulder. "How long have you been working at NexGen?"
"I started six months ago."
"You were issued a Glock at that point in time, correct?"
"Yeah."
"Have you ever had occasion to fire it?"
"No, at least not anywhere except the practice range."
"We'd like to have a look at that gun."
"Umm..., I reported it lost or stolen. I don't know where it
is."
"Mr. Ardoin, Dr. Thibodeaux was shot with a 9 mm handgun. Don't
you find it a little suspicious that he was shot at the facility
where you worked, while you were the only one on duty, with a gun
like the one you claim was stolen?"
"Look, you may be a fancy federal cop, but all that don't prove
nothing. I don't know who shot the doctor, but I do know it
wasn't me. I got no reason to want him dead. You can't hang
this on me."
Just at that moment, Scully's cell phone rang. She fished it out
to answer.
"Scully. Oh, really? Okay. Let me know if you find anything
else." She flipped her phone shut and glanced meaningfully at
Mulder. "Mr. Ardoin, that was the forensics team in Dr.
Thibodeaux's lab. They called to inform me they found a bloody
fingerprint, which they ran against NexGen's employees. They
found a match. Correct me if I'm wrong, but weren't you
fingerprinted when you started working there?"
Ardoin stammered out a reply. "Y-yes."
"Well, then," continued Scully. "It looks like we might have
that proof you were talking about."
"That's impossible, I cl..., I didn't do it. You couldn't have a
fingerprint."
"I am afraid we do have a fingerprint. A faint but clear bloody
fingerprint was lifted from the door to Dr. Thibodeaux's lab -
your fingerprint, Dr. Thibodeaux's blood. I think maybe you
should start being a little more forthcoming, Mr. Ardoin."
"Yeah, I think so, too," interjected Mulder. "First-degree
murder is a capital offense in Louisiana. That means you could
be sentenced to death by lethal injection, which I suppose is
better than frying, but still.... I'd say if there were some
extenuating circumstances or maybe some other people you could
share the blame with, you might want to start doing that."
By now, Ardoin was clearly terrified. "So, Agent Mulder, if I
cooperate, you might be able to reduce the charge?"
"It's quite possible, yes."
The explanation rushed forth in a torrent of words. "A drinking
buddy of mine contacted me, seeing if I could get him copies of
David's work. He said he knew someone that would pay me big
bucks. They wanted stuff from some of the other labs, as well.
I got him stuff once before. They paid me five thousand dollars
for copying a few files. It was easy. It would have been easy
this time, too, if Thibodeaux hadn't decided to go to work that
night; he wasn't supposed to be there. He startled me, I
panicked and before I knew it, he was shot, lying on the floor
and bleeding all over. He was dead before I could do anything.
We were the only people in the building at the time, so cleaning
up the blood and moving the body weren't hard. I didn't mean to
shoot him - he wasn't supposed to be there! Oh, God... It was
just supposed to be a way to pick up some easy money real fast."
"What is your friend's name, Mr. Ardoin?"
"Paul Doucet."
"Do you have an address where we could contact him?"
"Um...no, but he hangs out at the Dew Drop Inn sometimes."
"Do you have any other information that might help us locate
him?"
"That's all I know. I just met him at the bar one night."
"Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Ardoin. Someone else will
be in to get a complete description of your friend shortly."
*****
It had been a long day, but the agents could now mark David
Thibodeaux's murder solved. Melancon would have someone take
Ardoin's formal statement in the morning. Granted, the
investigation wasn't over, but the local authorities could handle
tying up the loose ends, including locating Paul Doucet and
investigating who was at the bottom of the attempt to steal
secrets from NexGen. Mulder and Scully would notify the Bureau's
white-collar crime division about the industrial espionage angle
as well. For a change, the local authorities were happy with
them, and Scully imagined Skinner would be, too. It was time to
go home.
*****
"Scully, it's already Thursday night. We probably can't get a
flight out of here before tomorrow afternoon and it's not like
we'll be expected in the office on Saturday or Sunday, so how
about we take a boat ride out to the campground where those
people died? C'mon, it'll be a nice little trip to the swamp."
"Are you crazy, Mulder?"
"Is that a rhetorical question, Scully?"
"Look, Mulder, I know you keep expecting to find the truth around
the next bend, but it'd be stupid for us stay for the weekend.
Skinner sent us out here to solve a case. We accomplished that.
Let's not jeopardize the positive points we made. Your anonymous
informant gave you nothing. We looked into the NexGen link and
found zilch; it's entirely possible there's a natural explanation
for why those people died. Besides, there is no way we could
include a weekend camping trip on our expense account." She
paused and raised her eyebrow, giving him that smug look that
dared him to question her logical list of reasons why they
shouldn't take a nice little trip to the swamp.
"I hear you, Scully, but I'm here, and I just can't walk away
from it. I understand if you don't want to come with me.
Regardless, I think I'm going to rent some camping equipment and
a boat and take a look at the area where those folks were camping
to see if anything turns up. I've always wanted to have an up-
close and personal look at a southern swamp anyway."
Scully took a deep breath before acknowledging that there was no
way in hell she was letting Mulder loose in a swamp - alone. As
usual, her determination not to let him drag her on another crazy
and no doubt misguided mission had collapsed in the face of his
single-minded intensity. Her logic was simply no match for his
passion.
*****
Continued in Part 2
Title: Augury (2/2)
Authors: NonEssential and NonExistent
*****
The duo spent the next morning preparing for their weekend
adventure in the swamp, including renting a 17-foot jonboat with
a 25 horsepower motor from Cajun Jack's Swamp Marina. Cajun Jack
had been somewhat dubious about renting them a boat, not
possessing a particularly high opinion of the outdoor skills of
two FBI agents from Washington D.C. He carefully explained that
the swamp was a dangerous place, even more so with the recent
unexplained deaths. "And there ain't no cell phone service out
there in the swamp neither. Ya get youself in trouble, ya just
gonna have to get youself out. I'm telling ya, if yas ain't back
by Sunday afternoon, I gonna send a rescue party out."
Mulder thanked the man for his advice and concern and assured
them they would be very careful. Nevertheless, he made sure to
leave the information about where they would be camping. Scully
could see that Mulder's enthusiasm had been somewhat dampened by
the realization that he would have no cell phone service. She
sure hoped they wouldn't need it.
With all the preparations finally complete, the partners loaded
their equipment and provisions into the boat, and, with Scully in
the bow and Mulder at the tiller, they were off down the bayou.
It was a gorgeous early fall day, and Scully had to admit that
the swamp was beautiful. Magnificent ancient cypress trees,
draped with picturesque Spanish moss, formed a canopy over their
heads, shielding them from the hot rays of the sun. The breeze
from the boat's forward progress kept them cool, and wildlife was
abundant. They saw every kind of heron and egret imaginable.
Scully was particularly impressed by the graceful Snowy Egrets
with their bright yellow feet and showy aigrettes. They saw
three baby raccoons digging for crayfish and numerous alligators
resting on logs and lying on the banks. They passed the
occasional snake swimming with only its head breaking the water
and were startled when they glimpsed a large snake sunning on an
overhanging branch.
Mulder eventually broke the companionable silence. "Hey, Scully,
did you know that the Honey Island Swamp has its own Bigfoot?"
Scully turned to face Mulder, one eyebrow arching up to disappear
under the hair that had fallen across her forehead. "Mulder,
you're kidding, right? On top of everything else, you better not
be here because of some mythical swamp creature."
"Of course not, Scully. Do you think I'm crazy? That was a
rhetorical question, by the way. But you have to admit; it is
interesting. Back in 1963, two air traffic controllers, Harlan
Ford and Billy Mills, first encountered the creature. They came
across it again in 1974 and made plaster casts of its footprints.
Louisiana Wildlife and Fisheries and scientists from LSU and the
Smithsonian looked into it."
"Mulder, you don't seriously believe there is a Honey Island
Monster, and you certainly don't believe that it could have
played a role in these recent deaths, do you?"
"Of course not, Scully. I figure if a swamp monster were
responsible for killing those people, there would have been a lot
of blood. Of course, it's possible that the creature might be
venomous. I have seen stranger things."
Mulder received no reply beyond the famous Scully eye roll.
Three hours later, they reached the general vicinity where the
mysterious deaths had occurred. Mulder angled the boat onto a
convenient landing, and Scully jumped out onto relatively dry
land, pulled the boat up onto the shore, and tied the bow line to
a handy branch for extra security.
They efficiently unloaded their equipment and carried it up the
uneven, shallow bank. Responsibilities were quickly divided,
with Scully agreeing to set the tent up in the clearing about 100
yards from the boat, while Mulder gathered firewood. The sun was
already dipping below the horizon, and they definitely wanted
camp set up before nightfall.
Mulder was finding it difficult to find firewood and was rapidly
becoming miserable. Most of the salvage wood was either wet or
at least damp. He was hot, sweaty, and anxious to get back to
the clearing because the mosquitoes were devouring him. If he
stayed out here much longer, he feared he would need a
transfusion. And if the sensation of being constantly bitten
wasn't aggravating enough, the high-pitched whine of mosquitoes
mercilessly buzzing around his ears seemed specifically designed
to drive him crazy. At last, feeling that he had an adequate
amount of wood, he hurried back to the clearing where Scully had
just finished setting up the tent. She greeted him with a cheery
wave and a, "Welcome home, Mulder." Clearly, she was enjoying
this little adventure more than he.
"God, Scully, the mosquitoes are horrendous," were the first
words out of his mouth.
Scully grinned up at him, that little chipmunk grin that either
captivated him or aggravated him, depending on the circumstances.
Just now, it aggravated him. "What's so amusing, Scully?"
"Nothing, Mulder. It's just that I have Deep Wood's Off. Since
my experience in the Oregon forest, I don't venture into the
woods without it."
"Are you serious, Scully? If you share, I promise to have
Frohike name his first born daughter after you."
"Um, that's ok, Mulder. That won't be necessary. I left it in
my pack, which I'm afraid is still down at the water, but I'll go
get it. I need a few other things from it anyway. You want to
start the fire in the meantime?"
"Sure, Scully, but hurry, would you? I think I'm beginning to
feel weak from blood loss."
Scully hustled off, and Mulder set to work starting the fire. It
was only moments before discretion overcame valor, and he hurried
off after Scully. The fire could wait; he needed the repellent -
now. The mosquitoes weren't so bad when he was walking and had
his arms free to swat them away, unlike when he had been carrying
all that wood. Nevertheless, he was still happy to see Scully
pulling her pack out of the boat and heading back towards him.
Happiness that turned to terror when he saw a huge - really huge
- alligator lumbering up the bank only a few scant yards from his
diminutive partner. "Run, Scully," he screamed at the top of his
lungs, even as he started running towards her. "Run!"
Scully didn't need to hear the second admonition. She dropped
the pack and was running towards her partner as fast as her legs
could carry her. She didn't know why she was running, but the
terror in Mulder's voice was more than enough to convince her
that she must be running from something life threatening. She
hoped it wasn't that damned Swamp Creature.
She watched as Mulder pulled out his gun and took aim at
something behind her even as he scrambled towards her. He needed
a clear shot, but Scully was directly in his line of fire. Damn,
that gator was fast! It seemed like an eternity until Scully was
finally passing him, and he began to fire, emptying his clip into
the monster's head. In the periphery of his vision, he saw
Scully trip and fall, even as the forward momentum of the gator
carried it past him.
The huge gator was dying, but its reptilian brain hadn't quite
grasped that fact. As Mulder turned to check on Scully, the
gator lashed out with its tail in one final act of desperate
aggression, ripping Mulder's legs out from under him. His last
conscious thought was that he hoped Scully had gotten clear of
its jaws, and then excruciating white pain radiated upward from
his left leg, and slowly faded into blackness as he crumpled to
the ground.
Mulder woke surrounded by darkness. At first, he was at a loss
as to what he was doing lying in the mud, but then it all came
back with clarifying intensity. Oh, my God, he thought.
"Sculleeee!" There was no answer. God, please let her be ok, he
prayed, even as he attempted to get up and look for her. The
pain that movement evoked quickly convinced him that he wasn't
walking anywhere. Undaunted, he began to pull his body in the
direction he had last seen her. He couldn't even crawl, but was
forced to pull his prone body forward using his arms. Even then,
the pain was nearly more than he could bear. He could see the
unmoving bulk of the gator off to his left. He hoped to hell it
was dead. He kept moving, his progress measured in inches.
After what seemed like hours, he finally saw her soft outline
sprawled in the mud just a few yards away. Sweat beaded on his
forehead as he ignored the pain of dragging his damaged leg
forward. Slowly, inexorably, he struggled forward. His teeth
penetrated his lip as he bit down, trying to use one pain to keep
another at bay.
At last, he was close enough to reach out and grasp her ankle.
Relief flooded the synapses of his brain as he felt warm, living
flesh. He tried to think, but the pain was robbing him of the
ability to form coherent thoughts. He would just pull Scully
back to him and see if she was all right. Then he could stay
here. That would be a good thing. He was so very tired. But
something at the edge of his thought processes warned him not to
do it. Oh, of course. What if she was badly injured? She
shouldn't be moved until he had assessed her injuries. How had
he forgotten? He would have to move again.
Slowly, he began to move forward. It was easier now, though,
because with every inch of progress made, he could feel more
Scully, more warm and whole Scully. He could now reach her torso,
and so far, he hadn't discovered any damage, but she was
frighteningly limp. He grasped her wrist and was gratified by
the feel of a strong steady pulse. His mind exhorted his body to
move forward. Just a little further, and he would be able touch
her face, feel her breath. Millimeter by millimeter, he covered
the distance. The mosquitoes that had been so painful before
still buzzed around his ears and fed on his blood, but the pain
from his leg had become so all-encompassing that he barely
registered their presence. Then, at last, he pulled even with
her. He laid his head on the ground. They were eye to eye, but
the darkness was so complete that he couldn't make out her
features, even though he could feel each breath she exhaled. He
still didn't know why she was unconscious. He reached out with
one hand, carefully exploring her face and head. Then he felt
it, the sticky warm wetness of fresh blood covering her forehead.
His fingers continued to explore, feeling the bump on her
forehead and the ragged torn flesh. She whimpered, and he pulled
his hand back. "Scully?"
"Sat you, Muder?" she mumbled.
"Yeah. Are you ok?"
"Ummmm fine, my head hurts."
"That's ok, Scully, just stay real still till you feel a little
stronger."
"K. What happened?"
"It almost got you, Scully. I was afraid it had."
Mulder's words brought the last terrible moments of consciousness
back to her, but she wasn't sure what had happened after she had
fallen. She realized that Mulder was lying on the ground facing
her. "Mulder, what was chasing me, and are you hurt?"
"Gator. I'm fine, but my leg hurts pretty bad."
Scully slowly pulled herself to her knees and then to a sitting
position, wiping the blood from her eyes. She was dizzy and a
little nauseous, but if she moved slowly she didn't feel too bad,
other than a pounding headache. "Which leg?"
"The left."
Scully gently reached out to tactilely examine his leg, but
pulled back when he gasped in pain. "Mulder, I need a flashlight
and my first aid supplies. I'm going to go down and get my pack
from where I dropped it."
"No! Th...there might be another one...down there."
"Mulder, I have to go. I'll be very careful, and most alligators
won't attack a human."
"But, Scully, you aren't exactly a full-size human."
She smiled at what better have been his attempt to lighten the
situation with humor. "Mulder, don't forget that I'm armed."
Mulder wasn't certain whether she meant that to reassure him or
threaten him.
"I'll only be a few minutes," and with those parting words, she
disappeared into the darkness, gun in hand. True to her word,
she was back within minutes, although to Mulder, it seemed she
had been gone an eternity. She already had her flashlight out,
having used it to light her way back to Mulder. The trek down to
the water had scared her more than she wanted to admit.
While holding the flashlight in her mouth, she carefully removed
his boot and gently examined his leg. For his part, Mulder
clenched his teeth tightly, determined to hide the pain she
caused him. At last, she sat back and took the flashlight from
her mouth. "I'm afraid it's broken, Mulder. I can't tell for
sure, but the level of pain you are in certainly indicates that.
It's already swelling. What happened to it anyway?"
"I got taken down by that gator's tail."
"Hmmm, I've read that their tail can be as dangerous as their
teeth. The good news is that the fracture is simple. There is
no external bleeding, and it appears that you have somehow
managed to avoid significant soft-tissue damage, although it's
difficult to tell about internal bleeding. The circulation and
color in your foot is good, though, and displacement is minimal.
I'd be tempted to leave it unsplinted, but since we can't expect
any assistance until Sunday, I'm going to have to immobilize it
as best I can."
Mulder liked to think of himself as brave, but he wasn't sure he
could handle any more pain. "Umm...Scully? Is that gonna hurt a
lot?"
"I'm sorry, Mulder, but I'm afraid it's going to be pretty
uncomfortable. I have some Tylenol with codeine in the first aid
kit; hopefully that'll help some. But once I get the splint on,
you should be a lot more comfortable. You know I'll be as gentle
as I can." She held up two pills. "Can you swallow these dry?"
"Sure, just hand them here. Scully, do you think you could share
that repellent you mentioned? The mosquitoes are still eating me
alive."
"Good idea. I could use some more myself. I really can't believe
how bad the mosquitoes are out here. Now, I'm going to get some
branches that I can use as a splint and pick up a few other
things that I need. I'll be back as quick as I can. Lay still
and don't move at all."
"K, Scully, but please hurry."
Scully hurried out to the edge of the clearing and cut the
branches she would need. Thank God she had brought the small
wire saw along. She dropped the branches near Mulder and headed
up to the tent-site where she gathered Mulder's pack, the two
sleeping bags, a canteen, and the ropes that tethered the tent
and spread the rain flap. By the time she returned, Mulder was
either asleep or unconscious. Either way, she decided to proceed
with the splinting. She wanted to make absolutely certain that
an injudicious movement didn't damage an artery or nerve in his
leg. If the jagged edge of his femur severed or even nicked the
femoral artery, he could die in moments. It appeared he had been
lucky so far. She carefully laid the longer branch along his left
side, with the forked end near the level of his armpit. She
trimmed it to a length that would extend past his foot. Then she
laid the forked end of the shorter branch near his hip and
trimmed the distal end so that it extended a similar distance
beyond his foot. After cutting the sleeping bag into rectangles
for padding and one of Mulder's extra T-shirts into ties or
cravats to secure the splint, she was finally ready. Hopefully
the Tylenol with codeine had taken the edge off his pain. She
considered just starting, but decided that it would be best to
warn him. "Mulder, are you ready to start?"
He roused at the sound of her voice. "Um...yeah. I guess so.
Ready as I'll ever be."
She propped the flashlight up so it provided the best
illumination possible and quickly began to wrap the pieces of
sleeping bag around his leg, placing thicker wrappings around the
thinner portions of his leg, like the ankle area. She was
careful to move the leg as little as possible, but she still
caused him incredible pain. His hands balled into tight fists,
short fingernails leaving small bloody crescents on his palms,
and he gritted his teeth as he broke out into a cold sweat, but
he remained stoically silent, except for a few soft groans.
Scully talked softly throughout the whole procedure, explaining
what she was doing and offering words of comfort. "Ok, Mulder,
I'm done with that part." He slumped back against the ground as
the intense pain passed.
Then she padded the forked ends of the two splints she had cut,
placing one under his armpit and one against his groin. She
smiled when he cautioned her to take special care to not pinch
the "boys." Humor was Mulder's refuge. Then she began to
smoothly wrap the ties around the leg to secure the splints.
Again, she touched the leg as little as possible, but she did
have to tie it tight enough to stabilize the bones. At first, he
didn't seem to be in too much pain, but as she moved closer to
his thigh, the pain rapidly increased. "Hang on, Mulder, I need
you conscious just a little longer. Help me determine where the
break is. Tell me where the pain is worst."
"There, Scully, there", he gasped, just before he slipped into
unconsciousness.
Scully quickly finished tying the splint in place making sure not
to place a tie near the point he had identified as most painful.
She used one of the tent ropes to secure a cross piece between
the ends of the two splints. Hurrying to complete the procedure
while he was out of it, she quickly secured the longer branch to
his body for added stability, wrapped the extra long strip she
had ripped from his t-shirt around his ankle, and brought the
free ends down and tied them around the crosspiece at the bottom.
Then she inserted a short but sturdy stick between the free ends
and began to twist, exerting a steady pressure and gradually
pulling the bones of the leg downward. She was very glad that
Mulder wasn't awake for this part. She secured the stick,
maintaining what she hoped was adequate traction on the leg.
Then she checked his foot to make sure the color and circulation
remained good, remembering the number one rule in medicine:
'first, do no harm.' Having done all she could, she settled back
to wait for him to regain consciousness. Between the splint and
the Tylenol, he should be in considerably less pain.
Nearly half an hour elapsed before Mulder returned to
consciousness. "Feeling any better?" she asked when she saw his
eyes flutter open.
Mulder considered the question before responding, "Yeah, Scully,
the pain isn't nearly as bad as it was, but I feel really drowsy.
Thanks for taking care of me."
"You're welcome, Mulder, and thanks for watching out for me as
well. Could you swallow this pill?" She held the canteen to his
lips as he placed the pill in his mouth. "It's a broad spectrum
antibiotic. I'm going to go back to the tent site and get the
wood you gathered, as well as some of our provisions."
"K," Mulder softly responded, even as he was drifting off to
sleep.
Scully carried the wood, as well as the boxed stew they had
brought, a heavy fry pan, and some canned peaches back to Mulder.
She would like to get away from the alligator corpse, but she
didn't want to take a chance moving Mulder, especially not in the
dark. While Mulder slept, she started the fire and began warming
the stew. It smelled delicious, and she was half starved.
Mulder must have been hungry, too, because she heard him softly
call, "Hey, Scully, that smells delicious. Care to share with a
hungry man?"
"Sure, Mulder. Do you think we could roll you over onto your
back? You'd be a lot more comfortable."
There was a long pause as Mulder considered the ramifications of
moving his leg. "Ok, Scully, if you think it's a good idea."
"Let me help you. I'll support your leg and keep it aligned
while you roll your body over to the right. On three. One, two,
three."
Mulder gritted his teeth and rolled. The pain was sharp, but
mercifully brief. Scully placed a couple of the unused
rectangles she had cut from the sleeping bag under his head for
support. Then she removed the pan from the fire, filled a bowl
with the steaming stew, and sat down next to Mulder to share,
careful that it wasn't hot enough to burn.
Scully was finally able to relax. She was amazed at how dark it
was out here, so far from the lights of civilization. The sky
was like black velvet, and the stars were so much brighter than
at home. They almost looked close enough to touch. It really
was beautiful. Mulder seemed to be doing a lot better and was
resting comfortably. He alternately talked and dozed,
entertaining her with some of the ridiculous things he had heard
while on wiretap and giving her way more information than she
needed about the Honey Island Swamp Creature. She had given him
a couple more Tylenol before he finally drifted off into a sound
sleep. They were sharing the remaining sleeping bag, and she had
snuggled closer to his good side, taking comfort from the steady
rhythm of his breathing. She still had a major headache, but at
least she was functional. Plus, she really didn't want to sleep.
The noises of the swamp creatures were a little scary, and she
had to admit that the events of the day had frazzled her nerves.
She focused on the fact that all they needed to do was get
through tomorrow. Rescue would come on Sunday. She was thankful
that they had left specific coordinates as to where they would
be, and Cajun Jack had assured them that if they weren't back by
Sunday afternoon, he would send help. Then, despite her best
intentions, she too dozed off.
She wasn't sure how long she had been sleeping, but she was wide-
awake now. Mulder's breathing had gone from comforting to
frightening - it was now rapid and strident. She shook him and
felt a familiar fear reassert itself as it took him a while to
rouse. "Scully, I...I...I don't feel so good." She flipped on
the flashlight to better assess his condition. He was sweating
profusely and was very pale.
"Mulder, talk to me. Tell me how you feel."
"Hard to breathe," he panted. "My arms feel tingly and my chest
feels funny."
Scully placed her ear on his chest to assess his heartbeat. It
was fast, and she could detect brief periods of arrhythmia.
"Scully, help...gonna be sick," he moaned, attempting to turn his
body. She quickly moved to support his torso as he was wracked
with strong contractions. He vomited, emptying his system of the
stew. Finally, he dropped back against the ground, eyes and
mouth now clamped shut from the overwhelming pain caused by the
impromptu movement of his leg. Scully grabbed one of the rags
remaining after her destruction of Mulder's t-shirt and used it
to carefully wipe his sore mouth. Her mind raced, even as she
attempted to calm her partner. What the hell was causing these
symptoms? She breathed deeply, trying to think clearly. She had
stabilized his leg, and there was no infection or fever. Then,
suddenly, the pieces to the puzzle began to click into place.
"Mulder, we have to go. Now."
Even in the beam of her flashlight, she could see the incredulity
in his eyes. "Scully, I can't. I hurt so bad; it's not just my
leg anymore, but my whole body."
"Mulder, listen to me. There is no choice. Whatever killed
those other people is now affecting you. You have the early
symptoms of neurotoxin poisoning. I don't know how it got into
your system, but I'm sure that's what's making you so ill, and
I'm sure that's what killed the others as well."
"Scully, I can't. Please, it hurts too much. Leave me. Get out
before whatever it is gets you, too."
"Dammit, Mulder, you know there's no way I'm leaving you. If you
want to save me, you're going to have to save yourself. Help me
get your ass on this sleeping bag. I'm gonna try to drag you to
the boat." Damn darkness. It made everything more difficult.
She checked her watch - 2:25 AM - almost four hours until first
light.
Mulder gritted his teeth and, with Scully's help, eased himself
over onto the sleeping bag that she had spread out next to him.
His whole body seemed to have become a reservoir for pain.
Mulder was in no hurry to die, but at the moment, death seemed a
very attractive option compared to moving another inch. "Damn-
stubborn-Irish woman."
"What did you say, Mulder?"
"Um...nothing." He must really be in bad shape, if he'd actually
given voice to that last thought.
"Ok, then, I'm going to start pulling you towards the boat.
We're going to go real slowly. I want you to help me, if you
can, by giving a push with your good leg. Then we'll pause and
do it again. I think that will reduce the bouncing and give you
a little control over the movement. Ready?"
Mulder nodded and followed her instructions, but excruciating
pain immediately exploded in his injured leg, causing him to
gasp. "Scully, please, just leave me. Get help. I can't do
this."
"You can do it, Mulder. You'd be dead by the time I got back."
"I don't care, I'm telling you I..."
Before he had completed the thought, Scully was in his face,
hands gripping his shirt, shaking him, heedless of the added pain
it brought. "Don't you dare say that to me. You will do this,
or I will sit right here with you and we can die together. Is
that what you want, Mulder?"
"No."
"Then get with the program, G-man - we have a boat to catch."
She began to pull, and he helped by pushing with his right leg,
just as she had ordered. After about fifteen minutes, she
stopped to check on him to see if he needed a break. His body
was soaked in sweat, and he was physically exhausted from the
pain and trauma. She dropped beside him to offer comfort and
encouragement, determined to hide her fear from him. He couldn't
die. Not like this, out in the middle of a swamp, for no damn
reason. "So, Mulder, what do you think of the swamp now?"
Determined to fulfill his role in the expected repartee, Mulder
replied, "I say we give it back to the mosquitoes. They seem to
be waging a guerrilla war to reclaim it. You know, Scully, I was
thinking...'stead of making mosquitoes that don't carry diseases,
NexGen oughta make mosquitoes that don't bite. Maybe I could
patent the idea and retire in comfort."
"Sounds like a winning idea to me. I don't know how people were
able to live here before they had screens and Deep Wood's Off.
You ready to go?"
"Sure," he lied. She again began to pull him towards the boat,
moving very slowly to avoid jostling his leg. She hoped the
splint was keeping the bones immobilized. The slightest shift
could sever an artery or impact a nerve, but it was a risk they
were forced to take. Her tired mind considered his joke about
mosquitoes that didn't bite. It sounded like an excellent idea
to her. Tonight's experiences had convinced her that mosquitoes
were one of the most noxious creatures on earth. Suddenly, some
missing pieces to the puzzle of her partner's illness snapped
into place. She had very definitely just made a Mulder leap.
She could hardly wait to tell him, but first, she needed to get
him to a hospital. His time was running out.
They had been making steady process when the end of his splint
slipped off a root that it had been sliding across. The
resulting jolt sent a bolt of white-hot agony across every neuron
in his body and wrenched a blood-curdling scream from his lungs.
Scully was at his side in a second. "Mulder, are you ok?" She
quickly ascertained that there would be no answer. He was
unconscious. She checked him over quickly. The arrhythmia in
his heart that she had detected earlier seemed worse, as did his
breathing. The good news was that the color and circulation in
his foot remained good. She was going to have to risk displacing
the bones by moving faster. The time for caution was past - it
was better to lose his leg than his life. Taking advantage of
the respite from pain that unconsciousness had brought her
partner, Scully returned to pulling him towards the boat. It was
harder work without his assistance, but not hearing his gasps of
pain as he was jerked along more than made up for the extra
effort.
Twenty minutes later, an exhausted Scully had nearly reached the
boat. The bank was the single obstacle. She tugged the sleeping
bag around until her partner's feet were even with the edge of
the bank. There was no way she could drag him down it. Somehow,
she had to get him on his feet. Taking the canteen, she bathed
his face and whispered encouraging words. "C'mon Mulder, I need
you. We have some problem solving to do." Gradually, her words
seemed to reach him. He felt far away, cocooned in a safe
wrapping of darkness, but Scully needed him. He tried to follow
her voice back to consciousness, but it was so hard. His whole
body felt heavy and he was tired. He lost his way, started
drifting back into the darkness, but her voice found him again -
soft, but insistent - pulling him back to her.
"Scully?"
"I'm here, Mulder. I need your help"
He forced his eyes open. Scully was there. "What, Scully? What
do you need?"
"I need you to sit up, Mulder. We have to get down the bank."
She released the straps that secured the longer splint to his
body and helped him into a sitting position. She knew this
compromised the stability of the splint, but there was simply no
other option. "I'll help support your leg while you use your
arms and your good leg to slip down the bank. You have to do it,
Mulder." Her concern for him mounted as she noted the
involuntary nystagmus that was now evident in his eyes.
Mulder swallowed. The boat was so close now. Scully was right.
He had to do it, for himself and for her, but he had nearly
blacked out from the pain of just sitting up. "Ok, G-Woman,
let's do it," he gritted out. Somehow he forced a confidence
into his voice that he didn't really feel.
Scully then clambered partway down the shallow bank, carefully
placing her feet so that she wouldn't slip. She grasped the ends
of the two splints. "Ok, Mulder start moving."
His arms felt weak and numb, but he was determined to do this.
Using his arms and one leg, he scooted forward and slowly slid
down the bank, Scully keeping his leg from hitting the uneven
ground. Gradually, he lowered his ass down the uneven slope.
Scully watched as he struggled, unable to do any more than keep
his leg in position. His arms trembled with the effort and
rivulets of blood dripped down his chin from where his teeth had
again bitten into his lip in an effort to control the pain. He
was silent except for the hiss that seemed to accompany each
inhalation. Finally, his good foot was on the flat area where
they had pulled the boat up, and he was nearly upright. He had
placed his arm back in the crook of the longer splint, using it
almost like a crutch. Scully made sure he was stable and then
tugged the boat as close to him as her strength permitted. She
scurried up the bank and grabbed the sleeping bag, carefully
laying it along the bottom of the boat to form a slightly more
comfortable resting place.
"Ok, Mulder, let me help you turn around and lower you onto the
front seat." Very carefully, he lay back down onto the seat,
teeth clenched to keep from vocalizing the pain that assaulted
his senses. Finally, he was down as flat as the seat allowed,
with Scully supporting his splinted leg above the gunwale. "You
did great. There's just one last thing. I need you to move to
the bottom of the boat. I put the sleeping bag down to make it a
little more comfortable. I'm going to climb in and help support
the weight of your body."
She slipped under his right side and helped him ease off the
seat. Because of the length of the splint, it was an extremely
delicate maneuver. Ultimately, Mulder's weakened arms collapsed,
and his full weight shifted onto Scully. Even her considerable
strength of will wasn't enough to keep Mulder from slipping down
onto the floor of the boat and wrenching his leg. With barely a
whimper, Mulder slipped into unconsciousness yet again. At least
he was where she wanted him. She arranged him as comfortably as
possible, ran back for her pack, then checked his condition one
more time, not liking what she found. He was tachycardic, and
his breathing was extremely labored. She pushed the hair back
from his sweaty brow. "Everything's going to be okay, Mulder.
Just stay with me." She doubted he was aware of her
encouragement, but she needed to hear the words. There was now
considerable swelling in his leg, though the foot was still warm.
She loosened the cravats slightly to ensure that blood flow
wasn't restricted and glanced at her watch to check the time. It
was 3:30. It had taken them over an hour just to get to the boat
- an hour she wasn't sure they could afford.
After pushing the boat into the water, she hopped in, and
gingerly climbed to the back. She lowered the motor into the
water, flipped the switches appropriately, set the choke, and
pulled the start cord, smiling with relief when the engine
chugged to life on the first pull. Setting the speed as high as
she deemed prudent for navigating in the dark, and, with one hand
on the tiller and the other holding the flashlight to illuminate
her way, she headed back towards civilization.
She divided her attention between piloting the boat and
monitoring her partner. They had been traveling for a little
over two and half hours when Mulder began to show signs of
restlessness. She wasn't surprised when, a short time later, she
heard him call her name.
"Scully, where are we?"
"We're about thirty minutes or so from the Marina."
"S'getting harder to brea. I can't seem tumove. Feel sorta
numb."
"Just stay with me, Mulder. You're going to be fine." His
declining verbal skills and the numbness were bad signs, and in
the pre-dawn light she could see how pasty white he had become.
He didn't have much time left.
"Can't. Tired."
In an effort to hold him with her she attempted to engage his
curiosity. "Hey, Mulder, did you know I figured it out?"
"Figured wha' ou'?" She saw his lips curl up in a little smirk.
"C'mon, tell."
"Well, it's just a theory, and it's definitely a stretch, but it
all fits."
"Scuwy, sto' stallin'."
"Remember how your informant indicated that NexGen was somehow
the key to the Honey Island deaths?"
"Uh...huh."
"I started thinking about the swamp and NexGen and the com..."
Scully stopped in mid-sentence as Mulder's eyes rolled up and he
began to seize. She released the throttle and dropped her body
over his, trying to keep him from moving as much as possible.
Then, as suddenly as it had begun, it was over, and all the
tension left his body. He was unconscious again. But this time,
it wasn't from the pain. She feared he had gone into a coma.
She felt his heart, and for a brief moment of panic, she thought
it had stopped. It was beating very slowly - bradycardia, her
mind supplied helpfully - and his breathing was now slow and
shallow. He was exhibiting all the symptoms of advanced
neurotoxin poisoning.
She jumped back to the motor and re-engaged the throttle. Only
speed could save Mulder now. It wasn't even seven o'clock yet
when Cajun Jack's came into view, but already, the marina was
bustling. Scully ignored the "slow, no wake" signs as she roared
into the marina at full throttle. She leapt from the boat,
wrapped the anchor rope around a piling, and raced for the rental
Taurus, clicking the trunk release as she ran. Grabbing the cell
phone, she punched in 911 as she headed back towards the boat and
her comatose partner. As soon as the operator came onto the
line, she shouted, "I'm calling to report an agent down at Cajun
Jack's Swamp Marina. I'm a medical doctor, and the victim's
symptoms are as follows. He's currently comatose, exhibiting
bradycardia and bradypnea. I believe he's suffering from the
introduction of a neurotoxin. I strongly suspect that the active
agent is the venom of the scorpion Androctonus australis from
Northern Africa. Please contact NexGen Corporation. They can
probably supply anti-venom for this type of poison as well as
expertise in its administration. Ask them to meet him at the
admitting hospital. Time is the crucial factor. In addition, he
has a broken femur. It's been field splinted."
Ignoring the questioning looks of the gathering onlookers, she
clutched the phone to her ear as she climbed back into the boat
to sit with her partner, convinced that her will, alone, could
tether him to life. She listened as the operator assured her
that her instructions were being followed, that a Life Flight
Helicopter had been dispatched, and that it should be arriving
within fifteen minutes. "Life Flight," she sighed. That could
be the difference between life and death.
The helicopter arrived, as promised, and the medics on board
quickly loaded Mulder onto a gurney and Scully into a seat before
taking off for NorthShore Regional Medical Center. A medical
team was waiting for them, and Mulder was wheeled into an
emergency treatment room, the doors slamming shut, closing Scully
out.
She paused at the doors and contemplated trying to bully her way
in, but paused to make a phone call instead. As she hung up, the
doors swung open, and one of the physicians emerged. A Dr.
Washburn, according to his nametag.
"Are you the physician who called this in?"
"Yes."
"A representative from NexGen just arrived with the anti-venom
you ordered. But what you say makes no sense. How could your
patient have been bitten by a scorpion from North Africa?"
"I can't explain it. It's complicated. But you have to believe
me. I'm almost certain that it's the toxin responsible for his
condition. There have been three deaths from the same area of
the swamp. I did the autopsy on the last one. I called the
Bureau in DC for the toxicology report on that victim, but it's
not open. I forgot that it's Saturday. He can't wait; you have
to administer the anti-venom immediately."
"You realize that administering anti-venom carries its own risks.
He couldn't handle an additional complication. Are you sure you
want to take the chance?"
She mentally reviewed her decision, reflected on her words,
'almost certain'. There was no proof, nothing but circumstantial
evidence, a Mulder leap of logic, and faith that she was right.
She made her decision, ironic that his life should hang not on
her science, but on her faith. She looked the attending
physician straight in the eye, certain that Mulder's life
depended on her power of persuasion. "That anti-venom is his
only chance. There is nothing to lose, and...and, I know I'm
right."
The doctor examined her closely, seeing the exhaustion in her
eyes, taking in her mud-caked clothes, the large, nasty looking
contusion on her forehead, and the flaking bits of blood on her
face and forehead. He thought back to the condition of the
patient in the treatment room, the field splint on his leg. She
had been through hell to get the man here, and clearly, she was
convinced he needed the anti-venom; she was willing to bet his
life on it, really. And she was also right about his condition.
He was circling the drain. In that split second, he made his
decision. "I'm going to administer the anti-venom. I hope we're
in time." With those words, he disappeared back into the
treatment room.
Scully collapsed onto the waiting room couch, adrenaline spent.
She had gotten her way, but now doubts assailed her. What if she
was wrong? What if he died because of her decision? What if all
those symptoms were because of his leg? What if...? She jerked
to her feet. Enough of that. She had made the best decision
possible. Deep down, under the doubt, she knew that. But if he
died, would she still believe it? And even if she was right,
there was no guarantee the anti-venom would work. Five hours
since the onset of visible symptoms - too long, her medical
training said. She sat back down to wait, thought about the
horror of waiting in the boat for the paramedics, the time that
elapsed between each beat of his heart, each rise of his chest.
How many times had she thought that his heart had stopped
beating, that his lungs had stopped functioning? But it hadn't
happened then, and it couldn't happen now. She had gotten him
here, and now he needed to do his part. An hour slipped by, then
two, with still no more news from the treatment room. She stood
and began to pace. Finally, the doors to the treatment room
opened, emitting Dr. Washburn. She tried to read his facial
expression, but his professional mask was firmly in place. She
would have to wait for the words.
"We've administered the anti-venom. He is still comatose, but
that is to be expected. We removed the field splint from his leg
and replaced it with another temporary splint. You did a great
job with the splint. His leg is in surprisingly good shape,
considering. We'll bring an orthopedic surgeon in tomorrow if...
when his condition improves. We're sending him up to the
Critical Care Unit. Now you need to have a doctor look at your
head wound."
Scully took a deep breath. "So, what do you think?"
The doctor knew she had brushed off his suggestion that she
needed medical treatment and was asking instead about Agent
Mulder, asking if he would live, asking a question he couldn't
answer. "We had to intubate and put him on a vent. We have
managed to increase his heart rate, but we are still monitoring
him very closely. We are, of course, treating his symptoms,
helping him hang on until the anti-venom can counteract the free
toxin. If it's not too late and if the anti-venom works, we
should see definite improvement in respiratory and cardiac
function within twenty-four hours. For the time being, his
condition is still critical."
"When can I see him?"
"It will take them about an hour to get him settled in the CCU.
Individuals on the approved list will then be allowed to visit,
no more than two at a time."
"Will I be able to sit with him?"
"Technically, they allow fifteen minute visits every two hours,
but the CCU is small, and the nurses are usually flexible
regarding the length of visits, so if you don't get in the way,
you should be able to sit with him as long as you wish. However,
your name will not appear on the approved list until you get that
head wound taken care of."
Two hours later, Scully, head stitched and bandaged, was
ensconced at Mulder's side. She would watch and wait. Three
hours ticked by. She was exhausted, but she needed to be there.
It was her job to remind him that they had unfinished work. She
might be a physician and a scientist, but somehow she believed
that as long as she was there, he couldn't die. It was over
twelve hours since Mulder had first shown symptoms. She pulled
her chair closer, placed her hand in his hand, and laid her head
on the bed. A cocktail of drugs, whipped up to counteract the
effects of the deadly toxin, dripped into his other arm. The
warmth of his hand was comforting. The steady whoosh of the
respirator and beep of the monitor were reassuring. They had a
somnolent affect, gradually lulling the tired agent to sleep.
The nurses came and went, making their periodic checks, careful
not to disturb the sleeping woman.
Eight hours later, Scully awoke, feeling that something had
changed. She felt Mulder's fingers twitch. Her eyes shifted to
his face. His eyes were open, frightened. She hastened to
reassure him. "Stay calm, Mulder. You're in the hospital.
You're going to be fine. Don't fight the vent." Even as she
sought to reassure him, a nurse appeared, alerted by changes in
the machines monitoring his heart and respiration. Seeing her
patient was awake, the nurse quickly notified the doctor.
Mulder, calmed by Scully's presence and words drifted off to
sleep.
After coming out of the coma Saturday night, Mulder's condition
had improved steadily. Doctors removed the endo tube Sunday
morning and replaced it with a nasal canula, when it was evident
that his respiratory function was returning. Not long after
that, he awakened a second time, and while still a little
disoriented, was slightly more alert. Initially, he had been
relieved to awaken to the radiant Scully smile that told he was
going to live. He recognized it from when he awakened in the
hospital in North Carolina. He was gratified that she had stayed
with him, but then he had taken a better look and seen the
fatigue behind the smile, the same filthy clothes she had worn on
their little adventure, and the large white bandage that covered
her forehead and wrapped around her head. While he reveled in
her attention and little touches, and took comfort in knowing she
was watching his back even as he slept, a guilty conscience
prompted him to insist that she go and get some sleep and a
shower.
Scully was tired, and she had to admit her appearance was a
disaster, but she was also unbelievably relieved that Mulder was
going to be okay. He had scared her pretty badly. His leg still
needed to be evaluated, but at least his life was no longer in
danger. Before she could sleep, though, she needed to notify the
local authorities and the Bureau of their findings so that
appropriate steps could be taken to close the area where the
deaths had occurred. She would recommend that they quarantine a
large area around there, and she would probably have to bring CDC
into the loop as well. Andrew Collins and the people at NexGen
would also need to be notified. She had best set up a meeting
with Collins for tomorrow. Then she would be able to get cleaned
up and get some real sleep.
*****
Now it was Monday morning, and she was back at the hospital
looking and feeling a great deal better. Mulder had slept most
of the day Sunday and all through the night. As for her, a few
hours of real sleep, an air-conditioned bug-free room, and a hot
shower had all helped to make her look like a new woman. Mulder
had been moved to a regular room, and both agents were relieved
to see the improvement in the other. An orthopedic surgeon would
be in later to assess his leg. In the meantime, a Patient
Controlled Analgesia pump insured that pain was kept to a
minimum, and Mulder was most anxious to hear Scully's theory on
the Honey Island Swamp deaths.
Scully had, of course, anticipated this and was anxious to share
her conclusions. "Remember what the note said, 'start with
NexGen?' The implication was certainly that NexGen was somehow
responsible, but how? We already strongly suspected that a
neurotoxin had caused the deaths. I was even more certain of
that when your symptoms started to present. NexGen was working
with scorpion venom, a neurotoxin. But how could the venom from
NexGen end up poisoning campers in Honey Island Swamp? I was
thinking about that, and about your idea for developing a
mosquito that didn't bite. Then I started thinking about the
commonalities between Honey Island Swamp and NexGen, and one
obvious commonality, besides the presence of a neurotoxin, was
the mosquitoes. Mulder, you may think I am crazy, but I'm
convinced that somehow, the gene that codes for scorpion venom
was introduced - not only into the target plants - but also into
the experimental mosquitoes at NexGen." At this point, Scully
paused in response to a very bemused expression on Mulder's face.
"What's so funny, Mulder? Do you find this idea that absurd?"
"No, Scully, actually, I'm really impressed. I'm just also
somewhat captivated by the idea that I might think you were
crazy; somehow that idea is incongruent with the world as I know
it. In all seriousness, though, Scully, how could that happen?
How would it be possible for the gene that coded for scorpion
venom to get into the mosquitoes, and how did the mosquitoes get
out into the swamp?"
"I've thought about that, Mulder, and I don't know how they got
into the swamp. Maybe they escaped from NexGen's Field station.
I checked a map of the area and it's only a little over a mile
from the area where we camped, although the terrain in between is
essential impenetrable swamp - impenetrable to humans, that is,
not mosquitoes. I do, however, have a couple of ideas on how the
venom-producing gene might have gotten into the mosquitoes. First
of all, it's possible that it was done on purpose, that NexGen
was conducting some additional experiments they didn't mention,
and that they purposefully introduced the gene into the
mosquitoes. I don't know why they would, unless their goals
aren't so lofty after all, and they're actively researching bio-
terror weapons."
"That's a pretty scary theory, that someone would do something
like that on purpose. Ideas like that make me glad I don't work
domestic terrorism."
"Alternatively, it could have happened accidentally. One of the
concerns that scientists have is the accidental horizontal
transfer of genetic material between target and non-target
organisms. Mistakes can happen. After all, the transfer vector
they were using to introduce the gene into the plant was a
baculovirus, which just happens to be a virus that typically
infects insects. Maybe the engineered virus containing the
scorpion gene got loose and then somehow infected the mosquitoes.
Biotech labs are supposed to have strict containment policies in
place, but all it would take is one individual with a few virus
particles on his lab coat walking up to chat with one of the
scientists in the Mosquito research area. Also, mosquitoes
typically feed on plant juices. It is possible that they could
have ingested either the virus, or even the naked DNA after it
was introduced into the experimental plants, and somehow
incorporated it into their own genome. A lot of scientists don't
believe that DNA can be absorbed from the gut because it's
digested too rapidly. But, there are dissenters, and some
scientific results that support them. And Mulder, I called the
Bureau forensic lab this morning. They confirmed my suspicion
that Edna Gautreaux died of the same toxin found in the venom of
Androctonus australis. I am sure the toxicology report on your
blood will match hers."
"Scully, did I ever tell you that smart is sexy?"
Scully arched her trademark eyebrow, giving Mulder the look.
"Seriously, I really think you nailed this one. This is one case
where the science is so far out there, it seems almost more
unbelievable than the stuff I usually come up with. But, do you
have any idea why only some individuals were affected? I mean,
why me, and not you?"
"I'm not sure, Mulder. In our case, I think we may owe Deep
Wood's Off our lives. I react badly to regular mosquito bites,
so I use repellent lavishly; remember the big welts I got from
those bites in Oregon? Anyway, I didn't get many bites at all.
You, on the other hand, in your haste to solve a mystery, didn't
bring any repellent at all with you. In addition, you spent
quite a bit of time in the dense cypress gathering wood. The
mosquitoes were surely more abundant there than in the clearing
where I was working. You were also unprotected by repellent when
you were unconscious. I'm guessing that either very little venom
is transferred by a single bite and/or most of the mosquitoes out
there are not carrying the transferred gene. Either of those
would explain why there have been so few reported deaths. We
know the three people that died had all spent at least one night
in the swamp. Mosquitoes are most active early in the morning,
in the evening, and at night. No day visitors have been affected,
as far as we know."
"Yeah, Scully, it all fits. I did get a lot of bites. A lot.
My arms were filled with wood, and I couldn't even brush them
off. They were driving me crazy. The thing is, if you're
correct, we have an imminent public health crisis. Those
transgenic mosquitoes are almost certainly interbreeding with
wild type mosquitoes. What's going to keep this from spreading
and turning our wilderness areas - hell, our backyards - into
death traps?"
"I don't know, Mulder. I'm heading over to talk to Andrew
Collins about it.
I also notified CDC and the local authorities. Even if I'm wrong
about the specifics, I hope I convinced them that portion of the
Honey Island Swamp needs to be closed to visitors."
"I couldn't agree more. You know, Scully, I can see how genetic
engineering could really improve the quality of life, but at the
same time it's pretty scary. I mean, I don't really understand a
lot of the details, but once a company isolates a gene and puts
it in a viral agent, it seems it could be pretty hard to control
where it ends up. Even I know that that's what viruses do:
infect other organisms with their DNA or RNA. I hope the
government isn't sleeping on this one. Without proper regulatory
laws in place, genetic engineering could give a whole new meaning
to the concept of Pandora's box."
"Well, hopefully one good thing that will come of this is
increased public awareness of the dangers. This could be the
Three Mile Island of genetic engineering. But there's no
question in my mind that genetic engineering is the wave of the
future. If present trends continue, 100% of some food crops
could soon be genetically modified to be more nutritious as well
as herbicide and pest resistant. Some rather unusual gene
transfer experiments are also occurring: genetically engineered
pigs that grow hearts for transplant into humans, cow's milk that
contains human proteins, and even goat's milk that contains
spider silk. One use for genetically engineered spider silk
would be to make stronger bulletproof vests for our protection.
Science is a double-edged sword and because of that, it needs to
be wielded very carefully. Sorry about the mini-lecture, Mulder.
It's nearly time for my meeting with Collins. Take care, and
good luck with the orthopedic surgeon."
She reached out to pat his chest, and he grabbed her hand,
cradled it gently against his chest, then captured her gaze,
saying, "Thanks, Scully."
She knew he was referring to more than just her wishes of good
luck. "Anytime, Mulder."
The next two days had been a whirlwind of activity. She had met
with Andrew Collins at NexGen, and he had admitted that there had
been a break-in at their "secure" containment research area near
Honey Island Swamp. Millions of experimental mosquitoes had been
released. It looked like Ardoin may have been responsible for
that as well. The release had been a significant setback for
their research, but they never imagined it could endanger public
health.
Mulder's meeting with the orthopedic surgeon had gone well, and
he operated on Mulder's leg first thing Tuesday morning. To
insure proper healing, a metal plate had been attached to the
fracture site. Scully had stopped by the hospital several times,
checking on his progress, but the doctors were keeping him
lightly sedated, so she hadn't really been able to talk with him.
It was now Wednesday morning, and she was on her way up to see
him again. She hoped he would be awake and lucid; she had a lot
of news to share.
His door was open, and she breezed in, pleased to see that he was
sitting up in bed. She noted that he looked good in his hospital
gown, which was fortunate for him since he seemed destined to
wear them so frequently.
"Morning, Mulder."
"Hey, Scully, you're looking mighty good this morning. In fact,
you look a little like the chipmunk that swallowed a canary."
"Thanks, Mulder...I think."
"I do have some pretty good news, as well as some not-so-good
news, but first tell me how you're feeling."
"I'm good. The doctor says I'll be on desk duty for a while. I
should be able to get out of here in a few days, but then I'll be
in a wheelchair before I can move onto crutches. He sees some
physical therapy in my future." Mulder was pretty sure she
already knew all this. She was a bulldog when it came to
checking his chart and making sure he got the right treatment.
"At least you can expect a full recovery. The femur is the
largest and strongest bone in the body, and it's in very close
proximity to a major artery and nerve. A broken femur is
serious. I was really worried about your leg, Mulder, especially
with all the moving around you had to do."
"The doctor told me my convalescence would have been a whole lot
longer, and my leg could have been permanently damaged, assuming
the edge of the bone hadn't simply severed the femoral artery and
killed me, if you hadn't done such a great job with the
splinting. I owe you again, Scully, big time."
"Forget it, Mulder. Who's keeping score? Besides, I owe you,
too. If it weren't for you, I would have been gator bait."
"Thanks. But, I just wanted you to know; I'm glad you were
there, watching my back."
"You're welcome, Mulder. Now, for my news. First, the not so
pleasant stuff. Robert Ardoin was found hanging in his cell the
day we left for the swamp. It looks to be a suicide, though
Chief Melancon didn't sound all too convinced. Anyway, he's
dead."
"That sounds awfully suspicious to me, Scully. When we
interrogated him, he sounded way too interested in saving his own
skin to commit suicide the following day, but you're right -
there's not much we can do about it."
"Yeah, I have to agree. And there's more. The SPD finally
managed to track Doucet down. He was packing his bags when they
picked him up. They cuffed him and were taking him down to the
station. He was terrified, kept saying that someone was going to
kill him, that he had to get away. Turns out he was right. A
shot rang out as they were leading him to the cruiser. He was
dead in moments. His dying word was 'Roush'. There's no proof,
but it sure looks like someone at Roush was behind the attempt to
steal secrets from NexGen. An attempt that has left at least
three people dead."
"Yeah, Scully, the evidence is circumstantial. There's no way
they're going to launch an investigation into Roush based on one
word, but I don't think there's any question that someone at
Roush is dirty."
"It also looks like I was correct about the swamp deaths. The
initial tests show that somehow the scorpion venom gene found its
way into the mosquitoes, and the toxin was being released into
the bite along with other salivary secretions. I doubt NexGen
will be able to survive the fallout. There's a lot of negative
public sentiment developing, and while I doubt there will be any
criminal charges filed, there'll certainly be some major civil
suits involving wrongful death."
"God, Scully, I realize that they're responsible for creating an
incredible menace to society, but you know, in a way, I feel bad
for NexGen. I had the impression that they really were trying to
improve the human condition. Other biotech corporations will
replace them, and I'm sure at least some of them will be a lot
less ethical."
"I agree, Mulder, and Andrew Collins told me that Roush is trying
to take advantage of current circumstances to buy them out. They
apparently want access to NexGen's technological advances pretty
badly. It looks like some big money is being thrown around.
Collins said he'd leave, if that happens. And, Mulder, he talked
a little bit more about that donor NexGen rejected. He said that
he was really unnerved by this one guy that hung around at the
negotiations, a creepy guy that just happened to chain smoke
Morleys."
"Cancer man." Mulder breathed, swallowing as thoughts of Emgen,
alien fetuses, extraterrestrial DNA, green blood, and six base
pairs swirled through his mind. "Scully, I am DEFINITELY going
to have the gunmen look into Roush. If I wasn't laid up in this
bed, I think I'd like to do a little funky poaching."
"Maybe in your case, having a broken leg is a good thing."
"C'mon, Scully, you have to be curious about what might be going
on at Roush, and you know everything will disappear if you try to
investigate through normal channels."
"Yeah, Mulder, I have to admit that bit of information really
piqued my curiosity, and I knew you would find it very
interesting. But fortunately, or unfortunately, you are in no
shape to investigate right now."
"Yeah. For the time being, Roush is safe."
"Now let me move on for a moment to the good news I have: NexGen
included a Trojan horse in their experimental mosquitoes."
"A Trojan horse?"
"Yeah. It seems that as an extra safety precaution, they
incorporated a mutated 'Notch' gene from Drosophila into the line
of experimental mosquitoes they were using. The Notch gene is
important in embryological development. This particular mutation
basically halts development when temperatures are cool. And, in
an incredible bit of good fortune, the scorpion venom gene
appears to have been inserted very near the Notch gene, so they
should be inherited as a linked unit. When the nighttime
temperatures drop in another month or two, there should be a real
crash in mosquito numbers in the Honey Island Swamp area. All the
eggs from the transgenics, or from offspring of the transgenics
and wild type mosquitoes should perish. It looks like we may
have gotten very lucky this time. I just hope it works the way
NexGen's scientist think it will."
"Wow, Scully, that is good news. Their little error could
potentially have killed millions and changed the world forever.
Not only that, but I was thinking I would never be able to go out
in the woods again. Now, you and I can go back and see about
locating that Honey Island Swamp creature."
"In your dreams, Mulder."
Mulder decided to switch topics. He wasn't up to chasing swamp
monsters anyway, so he would put that little investigation on the
backburner. "Any chance this bit of serendipity could rid the
world of mosquitoes?"
"I doubt it, Mulder, and while a mosquito-less world might sound
like a good idea, they're a key component in the food chain of a
lot of other animals."
"Yeah, sure, Scully, whatever you say, but if you ask me, I was
an important component in their food chain."
"Oh, and Mulder, I have one other bit of very good news. We've
both received commendations from the Director for our role in
identifying this public health crisis. In this case, Mulder, it
looks like you managed not only to put your best foot forward but
also to land on both feet. Well, except for that little problem
with the alligator."
*****
END
|
