Diametrically Opposed
by mountainphile

************
Chapter 20
************

Beneath the Knoll complex, Hocking, Ohio
March 16, 2001
6:10 PM

Ahead of the pack in enthusiasm and spirit, Mole was chosen to 
lead the sinuous way underground.

Scully came second, followed by Tusk who hauled one of the 
heavy first-aid kits onto his back.  The other team consisted 
of Cricket, Footer behind her, with Mason hefting the 
additional pack and bringing up the rear.  

All carried flashlights and wore headlamps, shining from the 
centers of their foreheads like third eyes. 

Their entry tunnel, beginning in the field, was the same one 
taken the previous night toward the cemetery.  But at the 
underground fork they veered left instead of right, heading 
into a different section of tunnel.  Rougher and deeper, it 
had surprised them to discover this one recorded on Glenn's 
ancient map but omitted from the more recent blueprints they'd 
studied for months.  

"It sneaks right under their radar," Mason had guessed, "and 
eludes even their heavy duty security teams." 

Scully's gun felt good and right to her, snug in its holster 
against her ribs.  Tusk had thought to switch her water bottle 
carrier to the left hip, sparing the injured right one.  Her 
remaining AMEX, other than the Maglite, hung from her stomach 
in a zippered fanny pack designed to leave her arms and 
shoulders free. 

"Let the guys carry all the heavy shit," Cricket had whispered 
to Scully with characteristic tartness -- and blatant reverse-
sexism.  "Makes 'em feel macho.  And I sure as hell don't 
wanna schlep it, do you?"

Tusk had quite literally shadowed Scully's back ever since the 
teams set out, dedicated to helping her over the rough spots.  
"Sweet to get the boyfriend's permission," he'd commented with 
a teasing wink after she confided to him Mulder's parting 
words concerning her safety.  
 
She was grateful for his looming presence, however, when they 
reached the first of many obstacles.

"This is where it gets really fun," Mole enthused, climbing 
down instead of stepping over.  "I'm warning you, the first 
step is a doozey."

On the other side lay a three-foot drop, stopping Scully in 
her tracks.  She breathed in the organic moistness of the air, 
feeling the need to cough as its heaviness filled her lungs.  
Like sticking one's nose into a pile of raked decaying leaves 
or an old flowerpot...  

With Mole below and Tusk above, they eased her downward into 
the yawning blackness, mindful of her wound.  Once her feet 
touched ground, she moved forward carefully, Tusk at her back, 
so the rest of the vadders could follow.  

The same thing occurred several more times, with chasms of 
varying height and distance.  Exhilarating for everyone, from 
the reaction, except Scully. 

"Hold up!" said Mole in a husky whisper.  "Looks like there's 
another one up ahead, then a short wooden staircase after it.  
Let me check it out first, see if it's rotten or not.  If it 
can't hold all our weight, we rappel down..."

Scully groaned and stood with the others, waiting for Mole's 
recon and report.  Muddy darkness enveloped him as his small 
beams of light bounced far ahead.

Could her wound take the stress of rappelling?  With enough 
drugs, the injury felt practically non-existent.  But without 
adequate pain receptors she could agitate, even rip out 
stitches before knowing what damage she'd done to herself.  
Elasticity came with healing, not by movement that tugged at 
the tender edges Tusk had so carefully sewn together.  

Positioned behind her as they waited, he must have sensed her 
apprehension.  She felt warmth radiating from his inner 
furnace, welcome in the damp, dark chill of the underground.  
From behind, a sandpaper cheek brushed hers, followed by his 
hot breath fanning her ear.  Reminiscent of innumerable 
languid nights spent with Mulder, it sent a flutter to her 
belly.  

"Dana, how you doing so far?"  

Sound was amplified in such close, dark quarters.  "I don't 
know how much these stitches can take," she muttered, turning 
her head toward him.  "Topography this extreme didn't show up 
on any of the blueprints."  

"Sssh! You pay attention to that hip and let me help you with 
everything else.  I've got more of those meds right here in 
case you need 'em."    

"We're in luck," panted Mole. "The steps aren't too bad and 
then things even out.  Air quality's adequate.  We can split 
on the other side as planned.  Tusk's group to the old 
hospital wing, Mason's to look for test labs under the Knoll 
here."

Mole grinned like a kid at Christmas, bolstering their 
spirits.  Flashlights trembled in place, a trail of monster 
fireflies waiting to swarm into the blackness.  "Sounds good 
to me," said Tusk.

"Hang in there, Dana," said Mole, patting Scully's arm.  "This 
like anything you've done before?"  

The question was almost laughable when she considered how many 
basements, ventilation shafts, and crawl spaces she and Mulder 
had navigated over the years.  

On hands and knees beside her drooling partner, with a white-
faced menace materializing from the shadows.  They'd traversed 
underground hallways lined with medical files in West 
Virginia.  Plumbed the depths of a North Dakota missile silo.  
Tumbled into a Mothman's lair in Florida.  Another cellar and 
she shot down rotting corpses bent on ushering in an 
apocalypse.  Their last cave exploration involved an 
hallucinogenic near-miss nightmare of digestive proportions.
 
"You could say I've had my share of experience underground," 
she said dryly.

"All right, let's hit it, people," called Tusk.

They pressed onward into the darkness and in a short time had 
attained the crossroads that would split the two teams for 
exploratory purposes.  A brief consultation, quick farewells 
all around, and Tusk directed his team toward the old hospital 
and mortuary buildings.   

While Mole plowed ahead, Scully trudged in front of Tusk, 
slowing their pace.  Her wound had begun to quietly throb, but 
the analgesic was sufficient and she didn't dwell on it.  
Instead she recollected what she could of the maps and 
blueprints, comparing their similarities, differences, and the 
dangers relative to each.   

"Are you positive," she asked after several minutes of travel, 
"that separating the two teams was the best way to go?"

"It saves time if one group vads under the Knoll while the 
other pushes over to the outbuildings.  Why?"

"Truth told, I'd prefer to see us as one united front rather 
than two smaller groups separated by this much distance.  
Especially since we're not sure what we'll ultimately find in 
here."

"We know what we'll find."

"But not who, specifically... and in what condition."

"Hold up, Mole!"

At Tusk's husky command, the Maglite beam bouncing far ahead 
came to a halt.  Tusk turned Scully to face him, pinning her 
with a stern eye and the cyclopean beam of his headlamp.  
"Okay, Dana, what's the beef here?"  
         
"Just that, as a theoretic second-in-command I might want to 
know the rationale behind a decision, in case something's been 
overlooked or could use correction."

"I told you the reason: to cover more ground and save time."

"That makes sense to a point.  Maybe I'm also curious as to 
why you sent Cricket's team under the main building where it 
can spin its wheels, while we press on toward the target.  She 
should be right here with you, not me.  Instead, you're 
protecting her again."  

Tusk scowled.  "How I deal with my sister is my own business."

"You put me at risk, it becomes my business too.  Shielding 
her isn't a solution.  She's not the little girl you raised 
from childhood through adolescence anymore, she's a young 
woman and one of the team."

"I'm warning you, this is *not* a good time to piss me off," 
he whispered, leaning toward her with hands on hips.  

"Then lose the attitude!  I imagine you've also neglected to 
tell Cricket that her friend Valerie has been victimized."
  
"She doesn't need to know everything."

"It's information she can handle without falling apart."

"My call," he growled.

"And all the while you were safeguarding her stress level, did 
you even think to prepare her for the sort of disappointment 
she might very well encounter tonight?"  

Tusk's eyes glittered like flint, but he said nothing.

"I thought not," Scully said curtly, "so I took the liberty 
while you were in town."

She went to turn away, but Tusk's hand gripped her upper arm.  
"I told you once before to run that kind of shit by me first!  
I know my sister better than anyone--"

A finger to her lips, she flashed him the universal sign for 
quiet, as their voices had risen noticeably in volume.

"And I'm qualified to know more than you about the strength of 
women under pressure," she countered in a harsh whisper.  
"Don't use gross over-protection as your rationale for keeping 
Cricket safely under your thumb, because she deserves better."

Some of the fire left Tusk's eyes, but she could see by his 
set jaw and heavy breathing that he loathed her intrusion onto 
his personal turf.  "Is this payback for the other night?"

She frowned in disdain.  "I don't operate that way."

"Well, I just want what's best for Cricket."

"Then don't shoulder all of the burden yourself," she added 
with more kindness, curving her hand over the iron fingers 
that still held her fast.  "Tusk, I know what I'm talking 
about.  There comes a time when it's better, it's healthier to 
let some of it go."

************

Putnam University campus
6:15 PM

For Mulder, what began as wasted time at the Super 8 became an 
investigative journey with a fresh objective.  

"They're called 'mobile phones' for a reason, Glenn," pointed 
out Mulder.  "If you want to stay with your cell I suggest you 
haul your keister into this car right now -- and bring a 
flashlight with you."

Under keen questioning Glenn surrendered information in fits 
and starts until new facts about his talk with Mason surfaced.  
These lent insight to Mulder's phone conversation with Scully 
and finally prompted a visit to what he felt would be the 
initial crime scene in the disappearance of Amanda Carmichael.

"A pattern's emerging, now that I have the bigger picture," he 
explained to a bemused Glenn as he drove them toward campus.  
"According to the map and commentary on your wall, activity's 
amped up within the last five years, yet there's been little 
in the way of news coverage to support it.  Instead, you've 
handwritten personal observations when you felt an itch 
start."

"I call 'em as I feel 'em."

"Give me more history, some background to chew on."  Mulder 
glanced over at the box Glenn held on his lap and pointed.  
"Come to think of it, I wouldn't mind another one of those 
donuts over there."

"Spudnuts.  Not bad for day-olds, huh?"  He selected a glazed 
and a blueberry and handed them over to Mulder.

"Fill me in."

"Well... you already know the Knoll started out as the one of 
those late-eighteen hundreds progressive loony bins.  The 
finest shrinks with the newest ideas on how to treat the 
insane.  But I don't think anybody really knew what was 
happening on the inside.  Hell, I used to hear 'em myself."

"The patients?"

Glenn nodded glumly, swallowing his donut with a hard gulp.  
"The inmates, yeah.  I grew up right near that place, on the 
edge of town.  It was at night that the screaming started.  
People yelling for help, for anybody to get 'em the hell out 
of there."

"That kind of behavior's common in institutions and nursing 
homes," said Mulder.  "I do the same thing when the hospital 
nurse comes at me with an enema syringe.  It's usually the 
nature of the care." 

Unless there were wrist restraints and opened hospital windows 
involved, with a man-turned-monster-insect snickering and 
scritching its way across the ceiling.  He'd yelled himself 
hoarse for Scully, for anybody, to come kill the repulsive 
thing before it dropped onto his bed and got him in the neck-- 

"With some notable exceptions," he qualified.

"Well, after those miners died when I was a boy?  A few of 
their widows couldn't handle the grief and were admitted up 
there."

"What happened?"

"The story goes, the first one died after a round of shock 
treatments.  Fried her brain.  The other was lobotomized 
without her family's consent and then shit really did hit the 
ol' fan.  Several doctors got the boot over that one.  But 
that didn't make the screaming stop..."

Their discussion and his recollections brought Scully to the 
forefront in Mulder's mind.  Because of what he'd learned 
tonight, her present activities weighed heavily.  He squinted 
out into the dusk, scanning the hills toward the Knoll while 
he gripped the steering wheel.  "Keep it coming."

"Upkeep got to be more than the state was willing to pay, the 
place being a national historical site.  So rather than pour 
taxpayers money into a black hole, they built a brand spanking 
new facility outside of town for the mentally ill."

"And to shake off the stigma, I'll bet."

"The university sure jumped to get its hands on that old 
property.  They bought it about five years ago and converted 
it to campus offices and an art museum."

"A place you suggested to my partner that she check out, when 
you knew things weren't quite 'kosher' up there," Mulder said 
with disgust.  "After which the shit hit the fan when her 
motel room was targeted and she was forced undercover."

"Well, I figured it'd be a helpful tip to somebody in the 
FBI... and she sure seemed to perk up over it."

"Just like our friend Mason 'perked up' when you showed him 
that blueprint belonging to your grandfather.  I'll wager his 
interest went a lot *deeper* than architectural or historical 
memorabilia, if you get my pun."

"It was really for him to pass on to Dana," Glenn muttered 
with an awkward shrug.  He looked out the passenger window and 
sighed.     

"According to the record on your apartment wall your itching 
occurrences didn't just continue -- they actually increased 
with the university takeover."

"Yup, That's true.  And all this week it's gotten worse."

"So what does that tell us, Glenn?"  Mulder stared at him.  
"It tells us something's pretty damn rotten up at the Knoll, 
and that's right where Scully's headed tonight with her new 
compatriots.  Mason and somebody called Tusk."

Mulder eased up on the gas and took a left turn off the 
highway.  He steered the car into the Wilson Hall parking 
area, under the same trees from which he first saw Willow Wind 
Nightingale in action.  

Though it seemed so long ago, his stomach made a sour clench.  
He shook his head, like someone short on sleep, to expunge the 
woman's image from his brain and the harm she'd intended him.  

"There's a closed administrative meeting at the Knoll tonight 
according to the Dean of Students," he continued, "so 
attendance is restricted there.  I think it's an intimidation 
ploy aimed at a select few, which means full-blown security.  
Maybe even as far out as the gate."

He had no intention of mentioning the words "Syndicate," 
"Consortium," or "Conspiracy" in Glenn's hearing.  

"So how're they gonna get in?  Dana and her friends..."

"I'm betting," mused Mulder as they exited the car, "they 
don't plan on using the front door.  Or even the back or side 
doors.  You got the cell and your flashlight?"

"Yeah."

"Then follow me."

The snack machine, intended for both dorms, still hugged the 
wall near the back of Treudley Hall.  Everything appeared 
identical to the way it had several days before when Mulder, 
with Hostetler at his heels, had examined the area.  The ash 
can for smoking students remained, as did the trash bin and 
the benches.  Old garden growth, melted out from the drifts of 
winter, trembled in the cool dusky breeze. 

Willow, he remembered, had conveniently drawn his attention to 
an upstairs window that day, curtailing their search. 

"What're we looking for?"  Glenn, unlike the Dean, was a more 
willing participant to intrigue.  He clicked on the heavy-duty 
flashlight he'd brought and looked to Mulder for direction.
 
"A door, a grate, anything to indicate an underground 
entryway."

"You think that's how Dana's getting into the Knoll tonight?"

"Sharp boy.  I'd bet the bank on it.  Every institution has a 
network of utility tunnels beneath it, for steam heating lines 
and to conceal electric and telephone cables.  I'd also bet 
that's how a student named Amanda Carmichael went missing in 
the early morning hours of exam week."

Re-energized, they combed the sidewalks, brush, and cobbled 
edges of the common area.  Glenn walked to the snack machine.  
He perused it long enough to check his pockets for loose 
change, and then followed his beam around the building's 
corner where deep shadow fell.  

"Agent Mulder?  Come look at this."

He held back the shrubbery.  About ten feet beyond, their twin 
beams illuminated a small metal door at ground level, rusty 
with age.  A man could fit through it if he hunched down or 
squatted.  Or two men single file, Mulder guessed, with an 
unconscious young woman slung between them.

Footprints and scrapes marred the cold earth.

Mulder gave the lock a fruitless jiggle before reaching for 
his gun.  "Stand back," he ordered Glenn.  One quick, loud 
report was all it took for the lock to disintegrate and the 
door to gape ajar.  

He leaned head and shoulders into the black interior and 
fanned his light, a tinny, muffled echo in his ears.

"Looks like pay dirt to me.  You game?"

Glenn nodded, his eyes gleaming like saucers.

"Then let's make like a pair of sewer rats and stick our noses 
where they don't belong."

************

The Knoll complex, main building
6:30 PM

Dave Hostetler surveyed the vast antique boardroom, wishing he 
could thumb his nose at protocol and strip off his suit coat 
and tie for relief.   

He was nervous and sweating like a pig again from pressure and 
paranoia.  Call them premonitions or bad vibes, but he felt 
them piling up by the minute. 

Consciously he avoided the area near the podium where the big 
moderator and his associates held court.  Better to stay under 
the radar than risk being called into another private meeting.  
Plaster on a fake smile, nod, and wander...    

He also stalled the inevitable.  Linen-skirted buffet tables, 
while generous and appetizing, beckoned like forbidden fruit.  
More than once the thought crossed his mind that the pasta 
salads, breads, platters of layered meats and cream puff 
desserts had been tampered with.  Not poisoned to kill; that 
made no sense.  But injected with a mind-altering drug, maybe.  
Or truth serum...

What was happening to him?  Now he sounded as leery and 
bizarre as Fox Mulder.  Seeing Valerie Pinkerton in her broken 
condition had been damned unnerving.  

Wiping his damp forehead, he saw that he wasn't the only 
attendee who squirmed under the threat of intimidation and the 
unknown.

Several other deans, an associate provost, and one of the vice 
presidents displayed varying levels of discomfort at the 
proceedings.  Smiles seemed plastic over small talk; glances 
flickered.  Of course, they knew nothing of what Hostetler had 
experienced over the last few days concerning Amanda 
Carmichael's investigation and the FBI agents.  Kidnapping, 
attempted murder, and mayhem weren't everyday occurrences in 
Hocking.  

The thought struck him like a jolt that these men and one 
woman were also victims who harbored secrets of their own.  
Intimidation, custom-made to keep them quiet and acquiescent, 
had made them as fearful as he was.

He fought back panic.  The lump in his throat made him 
consider risking the wine to dilute his paranoia.  

"Please help yourself, sir," said a waiter pleasantly.  
"Plates are right over there."

"In a little bit," he replied, returning the smile with a 
manufactured one of his own.  

A handful of special guests, he noticed, had been ushered in 
for the meeting.  Several spoke with hushed foreign accents, 
some had Asian features, and they clustered together, ignoring 
the food.  Hostetler thought their ties were knotted too 
tightly, their suits too dry-cleaner fresh, as though put on 
infrequently or for the sake of appearance.  

What part did they play in this strange charade?  What power 
did the Knoll have over the university -- and why?

His cell trembled, with incoming calls set to vibrate instead 
of ringing audibly.  He slipped it from his pocket, stepped to 
face the wall and whispered.  "Yes?"

"Hey, Hostetler," he heard, "what's on the menu tonight?"

"Nothing looks appealing to me right now.  Must be nerves."

"I wasn't talking food," Mulder said, mildly out-of-breath.  
"Who are the favored few in attendance?  Anybody you've seen 
before?"

Already his furtive conversation drew attention; several pairs 
of eyes swiveled his way.

"I recognize all of the school admin who are present.  And 
some of the people unconnected to the university I've met 
before.  That big guy who chairs the meetings and never gives 
out his name... he has a sidekick who looks like he could chew 
nails and off his own mother.  Then there's a group of 
foreigners--"  

"Sir, cell phone use isn't permitted in this location."

Mulder had disconnected at the fifth word, and Hostetler 
tucked his phone away quickly.  Pulse racing and his face a 
bit warm, he faced the suited man who'd appeared behind his 
shoulder.  "Sure, but why?"

"By request of the moderator; no explanation is needed."

"Of course, I apologize."

"Feel free to partake of the refreshments.  The meeting should 
begin shortly."

Hostetler nodded his thanks, wandered toward the laden tables, 
and glanced around him.  It would be a long tense evening.  No 
one else was dropping dead, turning sick, or had begun 
blathering out their deepest secrets.  Everyone seemed 
accounted for, that he could see.

Exhaling, he took a gamble by grabbing a dinner plate and a 
glass of cabernet.  If he needed to contact Agent Mulder or 
vomit up poison, he could always use the age-old excuse and 
bug out to the restroom.   

************

Underground near the Knoll
6:40 PM

The two teams had separated no more than twenty minutes before 
Tusk's walkie-talkie crackled to life.

Scully halted beside him while Mole, eager to continue, 
wandered a few yards farther.  "Go ahead," she heard Tusk 
order in low tones that seemed loud in the narrow confines of 
the tunnel.  

She shifted on her feet and stretched, feeling the cold grip 
her toes, ankles, and then travel up her legs.  At the same 
time her wound gave another mild complaint.

"I think," said Mason, "we were being followed before.  No 
joke, man."

"What happened?"

"Cricket heard something right after we split up.  Then Footer 
thought he saw something a few times, like someone trailing 
behind us.  This is bogus."

Scully exchanged glances with Tusk as the radio crackled in 
his hand and the headlamp lent an eerie gleam to his face.  
Transmission wasn't as clear as originally hoped, but she 
could tell by his expression that Mason's words caused him 
concern.

"How long ago?"

"I dunno, ten minutes ago maybe.  And there're no labs around 
here so far; just a lot of empty utility shit."

"Don't let it get to you, dude.  Be steady and keep a good eye 
peeled."

"Yeah...  But it reminded me of those previews we saw last 
week.  That creepoid movie coming out this summer called 
'Session 9'...?"  

"Put a plug in that," Tusk snapped.  "Just keep me posted.  Is 
Cricket okay?"

"Yeah, we're all pretty much all rockin' and rollin'."  

"Same here.  If you don't find anything soon, call me.  Over 
and out."

"Gettin' down and dirty, just like we are," said Mole, his 
breath cloudy in the low damp temperatures.  Now that the 
radio was silent he seemed anxious to continue.  "We've made 
good headway.  Should be comin' up on something pretty soon, 
I'll bet."

He wandered off again.

"And it's a good time for a water break," said Tusk, pulling 
out his bottle.  He took a deep swig, his bare head thrown 
back, accentuating his height and almost brushing the soil 
overhead.  Scully noticed he checked his watch before 
addressing her for the first time in more than ten minutes.  
"So what do you make of what Mason said?"

"I, for one, would rule out malevolent spirits.  Rats or loose 
soil maybe?"

"Maybe."  His gaze dropped lower, focusing on her hips.  "Tell 
me if you need help unfastening that strap."

"If I want a drink of water, I can manage on my own."

"I was more concerned about how my stitches are holding up.  I 
should probably check you out, since we have a minute alone 
here.  Let me have a look."

Her cheeks felt inexplicably warmer in the damp air.  "And 
here I thought you were upset with me."

"I don't stay pissed at my friends... much.  And I'm serious 
about the condition of your injury after all this activity.  
How does it feel?"

"A little tender, not too bad."

She hiked up her jacket, unstrapped the bottle and fanny pack, 
and pulled back on the waistband of her fleece pants and 
panties.  Tusk knelt and shined his flashlight inside.  
Peeling up a corner of the bandage, he made a noise in his 
throat.  Then he smoothed the edge back down against her skin 
with even strokes.  

"Leakage, but nothing to get too anxious about yet," he 
murmured.  "Give a yell if it starts bothering you."

Mole's faint strident wail of "Fuck!" reached their ears a 
moment before it was swallowed up by darkness.  

They stared at one another, stunned.

"You go," gasped Scully, "and I'll be right behind you."

Nodding, Tusk sprang up, his two beams rioting over the uneven 
tunnel walls.  With quick hands she strapped on her gear, 
jogged ahead, and found him on hands and knees near a ragged 
hole in the floor.  Warning creaks halted his ginger crawl 
forward. 

"Talk to me, dude," he called.  "How are you?"

"Kind of bunged up my arm," came the muffled reply.  "Could be 
broken... I don't know, but it fucking hurts.  There's wet 
tile down here, like some sort of drain."  Sounds of 
scrabbling reached their ears.  "I can see an opening near the 
far end.  If you keep going you should find a way down..."

"Sit tight, we're on it!"

Tusk lost no time in radioing Mason while they skirted the 
hole, hugging the far wall in their descent.  At Mason's 
insistence, it was decided the second team would about-face, 
backtrack, and reunite to lend strength in numbers.

"Don't even say it," he warned Scully, but she was more 
focused on Mole's rescue than on being right in the first 
place.  

They emerged into a dark, cavernous area at the top of a 
curving staircase.  A junction, it seemed to Scully, where 
tunnels of varying heights and levels intersected and 
disappeared again into blackness.  As before, ventilation 
seemed stuffy and organic, but passable.

"Look at that!  Like a goddamn subway system," said Tusk, 
painting the air with his beam.

"What do you know about subways?"

He glanced back at Scully.  "Trust me, I've ventured outside 
of Hocking before."

The first metal step took his full weight; it was sound and 
the moorings gave little complaint.  "All right, we go one at 
a time," whispered Tusk.  "Dana, you start down when I hit 
bottom.  Got it?"

When her turn came, Scully took each step on tiptoe, trying 
hard not to stress her right side under the bandage, her mind 
in analytical mode.  More than once it struck her that Mulder 
would require a guide to find his way around the pitfalls in 
this underground maze.  He was familiar with Mason, the likely 
choice for the task.  Footer could take on the other supply 
pack... no, his shoulder wound disallowed that.  Cricket then?  
A taste of payback for her sexist joking earlier, but they 
could always jettison heavier items to lighten her load until 
Mason reappeared with Mulder... 

Gaining bottom, she picked her way over to the lip of the 
drain.  Tusk had already hauled the unfortunate Mole up onto 
the floor of the open tunnel convergence and had his pack on 
the ground, slung and opened like a gutted animal.  

"Duuude!" groaned Mole taking in their surroundings, his eyes 
wide and starry.         

"Some bad bruising and his arm might be broken," Tusk said.  
"You check it, Dana."

Bending with care, she confirmed Tusk's assessment by training 
her headlamp onto the swollen elbow and upper arm.  Mole 
whimpered when she traced the irregular contours with her 
fingertips.  "Fracture of the humerus," she concurred.  "He 
needs an x-ray as soon as possible." 

"Yow, that kills!  Sorry I screwed up," lamented their 
patient.

"Forget it, dude.  Swallow these to cut the pain.  Dana, don't 
even think about it," Tusk swore, noting her stiffness.  "I'll 
splint, you stand.  Be done here in a jiffy."

True to his word, his hands flew, indicating he'd immobilized 
this type of injury more than a few times.  Mole gulped pain 
pills, then gritted his teeth as Tusk set to work.  

A distant thud tickled Scully's senses, filling her with 
disquiet as she straightened up.  A slide of rock or earth 
perhaps, like Mason had reported.  Definitely a tread much 
heavier than a rat would make.  

"Lights out," she hissed with urgency, "I hear something..."

All three doused their lamps and turned their heads toward the 
unmistakable sound of footfalls.  Scully had instinctively 
unfastened her jacket and burrowed her hand to her left side, 
fingers skimming the Sig's handle.  

"Nobody move!" a rough voice commanded from the darkness.  

Light flared.  It gushed over them in a blazing, blinding 
wave, forcing them to quail and squint into its massive beam.  
Hand clenching her concealed weapon, Scully froze obediently 
like the others and bided her time.

They blinked at the security guard who advanced toward them.  
He gripped a high-powered flashlight in one hand and a Magnum 
pistol in the other.  Cruelty in his eyes, he snarled and 
burned the light into their faces with tortuous delight.  

"Look right at me, all of you!  Up here!  No, AT ME, you 
stupid little fuck!" he shouted to the cowering Mole.  "You 
got no business here, none of you.  Now you're all gonna pay 
for your little lark.  Even you, missy!"

He raised the huge weapon to cover Tusk, his first target.  
The hammer cocked ominously and Scully's hand twitched in 
readiness.  But his gun never fired because the guard flipped 
hard to his side, without warning, onto black earth.  A fierce 
struggle ensued as he strove to sit upright against the power 
of an unknown assailant who had ambushed him from the rear. 

Scully unholstered her Sig in readiness.

She, like the others, was mesmerized by the battle that 
rampaged before her and the relentlessness of the attacker.  
Arms and legs flailed and a shaggy head appeared near the 
guard's gun hand.  He gave a horrific scream of pain and 
dropped his weapon.  From behind, hands clamped over his mouth 
and forehead.  Glazed eyes jerked sideways from the quick hard 
twist that spelled his doom and he slumped onto his back in a 
broken heap.

His massive flashlight dropped and rolled along the ground for 
a few yards, plunging them all into near darkness.  Then, 
silence.

"What the..." Tusk clicked on his lamp and rose from his 
crouch, staring transfixed.

"You got cake in your shorts, dude?" babbled Mole, his teeth 
chattering from fright and shock.  "I swear I came *this* 
close--"

Scully shushed him, snapping her flashlight on.  Startled, she 
saw that Tusk was drifting, advancing with slow certainty 
toward the thin strapping figure that had facilitated their 
rescue.  Despite caution born of experience, she couldn't 
quite summon the voice to halt his quaking steps or still his 
outstretched hand...

She trained her gaze and both beams on the man.

His dark hair was long and tousled, a smear of blood staining 
the corner of his mouth.  A cast of week-old growth darkened 
his cheeks.  He wore eyeglasses and watched Tusk's hesitant 
approach, light glinting brightly off the ovals of his lenses 
as his head tilted in childlike wonder. 

Without warning his pale hands began to tremble and chafe at 
the thighs of his earth-stained scrubs.  One cheek muscle 
twitched uncontrollably and his lips moved to form a single 
incomprehensible word.  

"Isoveli!"

A strangled noise erupted from Tusk.  Time slowed to a watery 
crawl as Scully stared through the gleam of her headlamp and a 
veil of tears.  The two figures drew closer to one another, 
became fluid, and wavered like two beads of liquid mercury 
before melting together.
  
************
End of Chapter 20
Continued in Chapter 21