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Copyright:
Thursday, March 10, 2005 12:14:44 AM
BERMUDA
TRIANGLE
ATLANTIC OCEAN
EARLY AFTERNOON - DAY 2
"Mulder!"
Scully stared in
blank horror as the plane’s shattered nose sank beneath choppy storm-darkened
waves, leaving behind only a trail of shimmering bubbles. "Mulder!"
Someone was
holding her back, pleading with her, clutching her arms in a fierce paralyzing
grip. "Let me go!" she yelled, wrenching free despite the blazing pain in
her shoulder. "He’s my partner!"
Saltwater stung
her lacerated forehead as she plunged headfirst into the churning waves. She
barely even noticed. "Mulder, where are you?" she shouted, awkwardly treading
water. "Mulder!"
The bubbles were
slowly fading away. She had to act now, or it would be too late!
She dove, kicking
hard, following the plane’s lazy descent. Icy darkness enveloped her. Her lungs
began to ache and fiery spots danced before her eyes, yet still she struggled
deeper. She couldn’t give up, she just couldn’t!
More rising air
bubbles suddenly exploded in her face, blinding her. Then her groping fingers
slid against something soft, slippery-wet.
One last frantic
surge of energy moved her weakening legs, propelling her upward again, dragging
heavy weight behind her. She couldn’t give up, she couldn’t...
Mulder, please don’t
die!
Cold rain suddenly
lashed against her upturned face. Sputtering, she sucked in deep breaths of
precious air. Lightning flared overhead, painfully bright against her dilated
eyes. The iron bands constricting her chest slowly eased as she struggled to
keep Mulder’s sagging head above the waves.
"Over here!"
Reuben’s lilting voice cut through the howling wind, and she caught a brief
glimpse of his pale face through the churning spray. "We’re over here!
Hurry!"
Thunder rumbled in
her ears as the heavy waves knocked her back and forth. Frigid water cascaded
over her head, and she resurfaced with a strangled cough. Fresh pain lanced
through her shoulder as she awkwardly splashed toward the heaving orange raft.
Her legs were going numb from the bitter cold, and she was so tired--but she had
to keep trying! Mulder’s life depended on her!
Something hard
stung her flailing hand. She wrapped stiffening fingers around it, and felt the
waves tug harder in protest as the raft suddenly jolted closer. A rope?
New energy surged through her battered frame as Reuben’s withered fingers locked
around Mulder’s sodden leather jacket, and pulled hard. "Hurry!" she
shouted. "He’s not breathing!"
Esther leaned out
perilously far to snatch at his bobbing arm, and slowly they hauled his limp
body into the raft. Then it was Scully’s turn, and she wanted to sob with relief
as the ocean reluctantly loosened its death-grip on her thrashing legs.
Mulder was
sprawled face-down in the sloshing raft. "Help me roll him over!" she gasped,
clutching her aching arm with bleeding fingers. Oh God, his lips were blue, and
his open eyes were glazed. "He can’t die, not yet!"
Esther braced
herself against the rolling waves, and pressed withered fingers against his cold
throat. "He still has a pulse!" she shouted. "He’s still alive!"
Both teenagers
looked shell-shocked, too dazed to react. Scully ignored them, and focused on
her partner’s deathly pale face. "Come on, Mulder, come on!" she
chanted, thrusting hard against his inert diaphragm. "Breathe!"
Helpful hands
steadied her as she bent to force air down his windpipe. Again. And again!
Breathe, thrust... Breathe, thrust... Breathe,
thrust...
His long body
abruptly convulsed, and a gush of salty water erupted from his open mouth.
Scully tilted his head to one side, letting the water drain. "Breathe, Mulder!"
she ordered, pushing hard against his ribs one last time. "Come on, damn
it! Breathe!"
He jerked again,
and this time she heard the sweet rush of air filling his lungs. His chest began
to rise and fall in a slow, rhythmic cadence as his taut muscles relaxed.
Suddenly she
realized that hot tears were streaming down her cheeks. She quickly wiped them
away with a water-soaked sleeve.
Mulder’s eyes
slowly flickered open and focused on her tear-streaked face. "Hey!" A faint
teasing grin flickering across his lips as they formed soundless words. "This
time--I had you going!"
For one crazy
moment, she didn’t know whether to hit him or kiss him. "Jesus, Mulder, I
thought I’d lost you!" she groaned, bending to stroke his bruised forehead with
gentle fingers. "Don’t you ever do that to me again!"
Lightning flashed
overhead again. Mulder peered blearily around, and tried to lever himself up on
one elbow. "Lie still!" she ordered, laying a restraining hand on his chest.
"You need rest!"
Another huge wave
crashed into the raft, drenching them with icy spray. "How long will this storm
last?" Reuben shouted in her ear, his aging face drawn with fear. "The raft is
filling up with water fast!"
"Emergency rafts
are built to handle a lot of water!" she yelled back. "Just hang onto the ropes!
It can’t last much longer!"
Suddenly the black
clouds and shrieking winds vanished. For one timeless, nauseating moment, the
entire world seemed to whirl and freeze. Then a soft, warm rain began to patter
down around them.
Scully bolted
upright, her eyes wild with terror. "Mulder, what happened?" she demanded.
"I don’t know!"
Her partner’s face was pale as he doubled over, weakly retching. "Be ready for
anything--part two could kick in at any moment!"
But for the second
time that day, he was wrong.
The violent
electrical storm was gone. The gigantic crashing waves were gone. The ocean
around them was calm, gentle, as the hazy gray clouds overhead dissipated into a
hot, clear blue sky.• • • • • •
"How’s your arm?"
Scully stirred,
and forced her eyes open as Mulder’s familiar baritone voice penetrated her
exhausted dreams. She’d meant to stay awake, but the ocean’s slow, rhythmic
pulse was hypnotic. And she was so very tired!
The deep sapphire
sky was tilted at a strange angle. Reflected sunlight made her wince and shield
her face with one hand.
"We need to find
shelter soon." Mulder’s voice vibrated under her ear, and she realized that she
was sprawled against his sturdy shoulder. She straightened, then choked back a
pained hiss when her injudicious movement sent hot fire ripping through her
bruised muscles. Tepid water sloshed around her ankles as she fell back against
the raft’s pliant rubber side, clutching her arm.
"How long have we
been drifting?" she gasped, peering anxiously at the distant curving horizon.
Mulder slowly
shook his head. "Half an hour, maybe forty-five minutes," he speculated. "We
should be sighting land soon. I hope."
Scully glanced up
at him, and saw a pensive frown creasing his forehead. She recognized that
frown; he was puzzling over the fierce electrical storm, the charter plane’s
crash, that brief nauseating moment when the sun had abruptly reappeared. And he
was putting the pieces together in a way that never failed to send shivers down
her spine.
"I saw an island
chain through the window just before that storm hit," she offered, trying to
bolster her own flagging confidence. "If we haven’t been blown too far off
course, we should reach it soon. It’s not much--but at least they’ll be able to
find us more easily."
Mulder remained
silent for several long minutes. His nimble brain was still processing data with
rapid-fire precision. Scully knew, from long experience, not to disturb him. But
she didn’t like the way his lips slowly tightened into a thin line as he reached
an unpalatable conclusion, discarded it, and started over again.
Finally he
stirred, and grimly shook his head. "How’s your arm?" he repeated, forcing a wan
smile that didn’t quite reach his troubled eyes.
She’d been holding
very, very still to keep from jostling it. "It hurts," she conceded with a faint
grimace, "but I’ll live."
"So will I, thanks
to you." Mulder lightly stroked her cheek, his green eyes warm with unspoken
gratitude. Then he touched her injured shoulder with gentle fingers. "How bad,
really?"
There was no point
in lying to him. Somehow he always knew if she was hurt, even when she wouldn’t
admit it. "It’s not good," she sighed. "Please tell me this raft is equipped
with some emergency supplies."
"It is," he
reassured her, nudging the compact watertight pouch propped against his right
hip. "But only basic supplies. Three dozen food rations, some sanitized water,
oars and a sail for the raft, fifty feet of rope, a fishing kit and flare gun,"
he elaborated, ticking off each item on his long fingers. "A dozen waterproof
matches, some collapsible vinyl pots, a flimsy pocketknife, and a standard
first-aid kit. Not much to work with, if we don’t reach land soon."
Nothing more than
she’d expected. They could survive comfortably with those supplies on land. But
out here, in the middle of nowhere...
"Is the emergency
beacon functioning properly?" That tiny device would make all the difference
between their survival and a slow, broiling death.
Mulder’s grim
silence snapped her around. "What about an emergency radio?" she insisted.
"Something!"
Scowling, he
handed her a twisted lump of metal. "That’s the emergency radio," he informed
her. "Same thing happened to the beacon, and both our cell phones have holes
melted through them. Even our watches have stopped. Six minutes after eleven,
the exact moment we got hit by that electrical storm."
Scully felt sick,
and it showed in her pale face and haunted eyes. "Then we’re on our own," she
whispered.
Her partner slowly
nodded. "We’re on our own." His muted voice was husky with apprehension. "If
we’re lucky."
Scully overheard
his uneasy qualifier, and her blue eyes narrowed. "Talk, Mulder," she ordered.
"What haven’t you told me?"
Cautiously he
angled his head toward their exhausted companions, who were sprawled in ungainly
positions a few feet away, and kept his voice low. "Scully, everything we
experienced up there--the black clouds, the blue energy discharges, the plane’s
sudden power loss--it all matches up with reports we’ve studied about
interceptions. Flight 501 happened exactly the same way!
"And look!" He
held out his hand, showing her the emergency kit’s small compass. Scully’s blood
ran cold as she watched its needle sway drunkenly back and forth.
"Mulder, this
isn’t the Oregon Vortex!" she protested. "There are no iron deposits way out
here that could cause such intense magnetic fluctuations!" Damn it, this was no
time for him to start getting metaphysical! There had to be some
reasonable, logical explanation!
"Do you have any
better ideas?" he retorted.
She couldn’t quite
meet his bitter gaze. "No," she muttered. "Not yet. Give me a chance to analyze
what happened to us first!"
Mulder raked both
hands through his tousled hair, and sighed. "Scully, we both know what happens
when a plane crashes in the ocean. None of us should even be alive right now!"
Then he stared up
into the brilliant sky with a bewildered frown. "Just before we hit the water,
I’d swear the plane leveled out and lifted for an instant--as if
something incredibly powerful grabbed hold of it!"
Scully glared at
him in frustrated disbelief. "Mulder, do you realize what you’re suggesting?
This isn’t Star Trek! Futuristic tractor beams simply don’t exist except on TV!"
Suddenly they
realized that the teenage girl’s eyes were open, and she was listening to their
low-pitched conversation with growing excitement. Finally she couldn’t contain
herself anymore. "I heard the pilots say that their instruments went dead when
that weird storm hit us," she exclaimed, sitting up. "You don’t think we...I
mean...well, this is the Bermuda Triangle, you know!"
The two agents
exchanged a startled glance. Mulder’s expression was triumphant; Scully’s was
deeply troubled.
"We don’t know any
more than you do, at this point," she retorted, aiming a reproving frown at the
eager teen. "But if you’re smart, you won’t cause a panic by circulating any
wild ‘Triangle’ rumors. The weather in this region is notoriously unstable. We
just got unlucky."
Scully’s harsh
tone made the girl’s slender shoulders fall. "All right," she muttered,
disappointed. "I just thought that..."
Mulder quickly
interceded, and offered her his most charming smile. "What’s your name?" he
urged. "I’m Fox Mulder, and this is my partner, Dana Scully."
The girl tilted
her head to one side and peered up at him. "Fox?" she echoed, grinning. "That’s
a funny name. You don’t look like an Indian!" Then she remembered her
manners, and quickly reached across the raft to shake hands. "I’m Penelope
Kensington," she answered. "My father is Senator Kensington."
Scully’s eyes
widened. "Senator Charles Kensington?" she clarified, shooting a
significant look at her partner.
Kensington was a
recent addition to Washington’s Senatorial Committee, and he also served on the
FBI’s prestigious Joint Council. If anything happened to his daughter on this
trip, they’d have made another dangerous lifelong enemy, despite their best
efforts to keep her safe.
You sure can pick ’em,
Mulder! she thought with an exasperated sigh.
"That’s right."
Penelope saw nothing unusual about Scully’s sharp question, but her eyes
instantly returned to Mulder. The adoring look on her pretty young face made
Scully want to retch.
Mulder was an
expert at deflecting growing tensions. "And your friend is...?" he prompted,
gesturing at the sleeping boy across from them.
Penelope scowled.
"He’s not my friend," she grumbled, "he’s just my neighbor. We have to go
everywhere together because our parents are best friends, and we both hate it!
It figures that we’d get stuck in the same boat! His name is Maximillian J.
Stanwick IV," she added in a lofty tone, and wrinkled her small nose in disgust.
"I call him Maxie to annoy him."
An arrogant,
spoiled millionaire’s son--just what they didn’t need to complicate this
situation! If his hostile behavior on the plane was any indication, they were in
for trouble!
Mulder couldn’t
help chuckling at the girl’s baleful expression, and she instantly beamed back
up at him. Scully rolled her eyes in silent exasperation. Too damned charming
for his own good, she fumed, glaring at her partner.
Max suddenly
stirred, blinked a few times in confusion, then pushed himself upright. Blank
horror filled his eyes as he stared at the empty, endless horizon. He whipped
around and stared in the other direction, then flopped back down into the
waterlogged raft with an explosive curse. "Where are we?" he demanded,
glaring at the two FBI agents.
His deliberate
splashing woke Esther and Reuben from an uneasy nap. The disheveled retirees
looked pale and frightened as they clung together for comfort.
Scully held her
rising temper in check with an effort. They were all still dazed from their
narrow escape, and they’d all suffered a numbing shock. But there were limits to
what she’d accept from anyone, especially a pampered society brat with more
belligerence than manners! "We’re not sure yet," she replied, her low voice
crisp as she shielded her eyes from the sun’s blistering glare. "But we should
sight land soon."
"Oh, really?" The
boy’s glare was venomous with frustration. "How would you know?"
Mulder’s tolerant
expression vanished. Scowling, he yanked his badge from an inner pocket, and
thrust it in the boy’s startled face. "Because we’re specially trained to handle
this kind of emergency!" he retorted. "That’s why you’re alive right now, and
not at the ocean bottom with that charter plane!"
Penelope’s eyes
widened. "You’re FBI agents?" she gasped, awed. "Wow!"
Then her
expression changed, and she warily backed away. "My father didn’t hire to you
follow me, did he?" she pleaded. "He’s always having me followed, and it
drives me nuts! Just for once, I wanted to have some fun on my own,
without them spoiling everything!"
Somehow Mulder
could understand why Senator Kensington kept a close eye on his precocious
teenage daughter. Right now, though, Penelope’s youthful escapades were the
least of his concerns. He forced a reassuring smile, and tucked his badge away
again--but made sure that Maximillian J. Stanwick IV caught full sight of his
holstered 9mm. It was still soaking wet and wouldn’t fire on a bet, not until
he’d cleaned and dried it. But young Stanwick wouldn’t know that.
"No," he promised,
"we’re on vacation ourselves. Or we were, until an hour ago."
Reuben suddenly
leaned forward and patted Penelope’s scraped knee. "There’s lots of islands in
the Triangle," he assured her. "Momma and I looked at the map, before we left
home. We’ll find land real soon. And then we’ll all be fine. You’ll see!"
Max looked ready
to argue, but a quick glance at Mulder’s warning expression made him subside
into sullen frustration again.
"In the meantime,"
the old man briskly continued, "we’ve got food and water, right?" And he pointed
at the emergency kit with one gnarled finger. "Probably left over from when I
was in the war, but at least they’ll keep you alive."
Even Scully had to
smile at Reuben’s wry humor. "Which war were you in?" she teased.
"Crimean!" he
retorted with a chuckle. Then he saw that neither of the teens understood his
archaic reference. "I served on a submarine in Korea," he admitted. "Lots of
times we were run aground, and we had to survive off the land until rescue
arrived. This is the most adventure I’ve had in forty years!"
Esther understood
what he was trying to do, and gamely thrust her own fears away. Whatever
happened to them now, she wanted to go down bravely, as a survivor. Not
screaming and crying like a terrified baby.
"Adventure!" she
scoffed, lightly cuffing his bony shoulder. "Adventure! We’ll take a
plane, you said! It’ll be safe, you said! Hah!"
He spun around,
and comically spread his hands wide. "We’re safe!" he protested. "We’ve got a
nice big raft, and food and water, and even two FBI agents to protect us! What
more do you want, woman?"
Mulder choked back
a laugh as Esther slyly winked at her husband, then let her lips curve in a
reluctant smile. "You see what I put up with, being married to this one?" she
demanded, turning to Penelope. "Just you wait, you two!" And her gesture
broadened to include Max. "You’ll see, when you get married!"
Max began to
sputter with outrage at her sly insinuation. Penelope disdainfully turned her
back on him, and beamed up at Mulder again. "Are you married, Agent Mulder?" she
urged, her blue eyes gleaming with avid curiosity.
Scully’s eyebrows
rose sharply, and a hot blush stained the girl’s fair cheeks. "I’m sorry," she
stammered. "I thought you must be, when Agent Scully saved you from drowning.
But if you’re FBI agents, then I guess...you wouldn’t be?"
Betraying color
flooded Scully’s own cheeks as she surreptitiously eased away from Mulder’s lean
body and sat up a little straighter. "It’s not safe for FBI field operatives to
form close personal attachments, Penelope," she carefully explained. "Emotional
bonds can cloud an agent’s thinking. And in a crisis situation, even a moment’s
lapse can be deadly."
Yet despite that
deep-seated knowledge, she and Mulder had knowingly crossed ‘the line.’ To be
sure, it had taken nearly a decade of close partnership in a thousand
danger-filled crises before they’d finally admitted their intense feelings for
each other. And they took special care now to keep their private life thoroughly
separated from their professional careers. But still...
"Bah!" Reuben
dismissed her careful rationalization with a sharp gesture. "You two, you
know what to do in a crisis. You saved all our lives! Getting married won’t ruin
that, it’ll only make you stronger. You just go ahead and get married, if that’s
what you want. You’ll see!"
"Poppa!" Esther
pinched Reuben’s arm, a fierce expression on her round face. "Hush now. It’s
none of our business!" Then a sly grin curved her lips as the two embarrassed
agents carefully stared in opposite directions, avoiding each other’s eyes.
"There’s love there, Poppa," she whispered in his ear. "Don’t push!"
Mulder decided
that it was high time to change the subject. "Reuben, can you and Esther fasten
this net behind our raft?" he interposed, opening the heavy emergency kit.
"Maybe we can catch a few small fish. And Max, you and Penelope erect a sail
with these long poles and the sailcloth. The faster we can get out of this
broiling sun, the better!"
Max was staring
mournfully at the melted remains of his Palm Pilot. Mulder’s terse command
raised the hackles on his neck. Rebelliously he glared at the sturdy plastic
poles being thrust in his direction. "What are you going to do?" he challenged.
The FBI agent
angled a cold glare in his direction. "It may have escaped your attention," he
drawled, "but my partner’s shoulder is broken. I’m making a sling to immobilize
it, until she can get proper medical attention. If that meets with your
approval, Mister high-and-mighty Stanwick."
Penelope giggled.
Max flushed, and angrily ducked his head. "C’mon, Pitstop," he grumbled,
shooting a fierce glare in the girl’s direction. "Let’s get busy."
Scully blinked in
surprise as the sullen boy obeyed without another word. Then an approving smile
curved her lips. "I think you scared him, Mulder!" she whispered.
"Good," he
muttered, his mouth set in a grim line. "Now let’s look at that shoulder."
Penelope stopped
and stared in wide-eyed fascination as he rose to his knees and removed his
soggy leather jacket, then tugged his shirt off. "Get back to work, Penelope,"
he ordered, without even glancing over his shoulder.
Scully caught her
breath as he carefully probed at her aching shoulder. "I’m going to take your
blazer off," he warned, "or you’ll roast. You’re already getting sunburned.
Ready?"
Nodding, she
pulled her right arm from its sleeve, then braced herself as he gingerly eased
the jacket over her left shoulder. "I don’t think it’s badly broken," she
gasped, forcing a tremulous smile. "I can still move my fingers."
The kit’s small
pocketknife was serviceable, but not very sharp. Mulder shook his head in
disgust, then set to work cutting a wide strip off the base of his shirt. Reuben
noticed his efforts, and helpfully dug into his pocket. "Here, use this," he
offered, thrusting an ancient, bulky Army pocketknife into the younger man’s
hand. "I’ve had it forever, and it’s razor-sharp. Thirty-five different gadgets
on it, one of ’em will do the trick for you."
Mulder stared in
momentary surprise at the worn pocketknife. How had Reuben managed to smuggle it
past airport security?
Then he remembered
the gatehouse guard’s careful identity confirmation procedures. No doubt the
resort had run detailed security checks on each of them before approving their
reservation requests. Those fresh-faced young porters were probably undercover
agents, assigned to protect affluent vacationers from potential terrorist
threats. For all he knew, pretty young Holly might have been an NSA operative.
An additional physical scan would have been both superfluous and offensive to
the resort’s normal ultra-wealthy clientele.
He handled
Reuben’s heirloom with reverent caution as it sliced through his shirttail like
warm butter. Then he gratefully handed it back, and turned to ease the wide
sling over his partner’s sunburned neck. Scully gritted her teeth, and painfully
maneuvered her injured arm into a more stable position.
"Look in my right
suit pocket," she rasped, sagging back to catch her breath. "I forgot to put my
meds in my purse when we left this morning."
Mulder groped in
her jacket, and pulled out an amber vial of muscle relaxants. "Damned good
thing," he muttered. "All the kit has to offer is aspirin."
Scully managed
another wan smile. "And not even maximum strength," she quipped. "Good thing no
one’s seriously hurt!"
The makeshift sail
began to flap over their heads. "That’s got it!" Max exclaimed, dusting his
hands in satisfaction. "Now we’ll get somewhere--if there’s anywhere to
get to, that is!"
Scully swallowed a
tablet dry, and grimaced at its bitter taste. "We’ll find an island soon," she
assured the frustrated teenager. "Keep watch for clouds or birds on the horizon,
large masses of seaweed, anything that might suggest a change in the water’s
depth."
Mulder nodded as
he tugged his shortened shirt back on, instinctively tried to tuck it into his
jeans, then gave up the effort with a wry grin. "The shallower the water, the
more likely an island is nearby," he agreed.
Reuben’s small
white fishing net left a trail of gentle ripples behind the raft as wind caught
the sail, and they began slowly moving eastward. Mulder watched it for a moment,
then carefully settled back down beside his partner. "What makes you
think there are any islands near here, Scully?" he whispered as he carefully
slid an arm around her shoulders.
The sail was
casting a welcome shadow across her sunburned face. Relieved, she closed her
eyes, and let her head sag against his muscular arm. "Call it a hunch," she
whispered back with a weary smile.
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