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Copyright:
Thursday, March 10, 2005 01:33:27 PM
PARADISE
ISLAND
ATLANTIC OCEAN
LATE AFTERNOON - DAY 3
"Where’s Penelope?"
Mulder had to bellow over
the rising wind as he stared up the long beach. Sand and fallen leaves,
hard-driven by the approaching storm, stung his face. Instinctively he tugged
his wrinkled leather jacket over his head for protection. "Didn’t she come back
here?"
Esther anxiously gestured
toward the distant northern bay. "I think she’s up there! I called to her when
she went running by, but she never stopped! Then Max came charging after her,
and he didn’t stop, either! I thought maybe you sent them to gather more wood!"
"There is no wood
up there!" Scully yelled, wearily dropping her end of the large sea tortoise.
"It’s all rock! Mulder, you’d better go look for them while Esther and I get
this stuff into the cave! And hurry!"
He hated to leave her in
a brewing crisis, but right now the teens’ safety was more critical. Damp sand
flew from beneath his heels as he charged up the beach, shielding his face from
airborne debris.
A large ungainly bundle
was nestled between the tortoise’s outspread feet. "Here’s the rest of our
supplies!" Scully yelled, tugging it free. "We wrapped everything inside the
emergency sail to keep it from scattering! You take it inside, while I pull this
thing closer!"
Esther clasped the
package tight, and bustled up the shallow hill. Branches were starting to whip
back and forth, lashing everything in their path. Scully kept low as she yanked
on the tortoise’s scaly hind feet.
When the older woman
hurried back down, the emergency rope was coiled around her hands. "We’re gonna
need this to get that turtle into the cave, ’cause there’s no way we can push it
up that hill!"
Working fast, they looped
the rope around a sturdy tree, and tied the free end to the turtle’s stiffening
leg. Then, with Scully hauling on the rope and Esther shoving hard, they slowly
maneuvered it up the shallow slope. Cold rain began to pelt down just as they
staggered into cave and sagged to the floor, panting with exertion.
"Poppa!" The
breathless glee in Esther’s voice brought Reuben running. His dark eyes gleamed
when he saw their heavy prize. Scully could almost see his active mind
whirling with recipes. Turtle steaks, turtle stew, turtle soup, turtle
shish-ka-bob...
In their absence, he’d
already begun unpacking supplies, and preparing their makeshift pantry with
thick stone cutting slabs. "I’ll build a fire in here," he instructed, "if you
can push this big fine fellow back into the larder. Soon as I can get him
butchered, I’ll start cooking us a nice tasty roast."
Scully’s stomach rumbled
in anticipation. "The sooner, the better!" she exclaimed, and achingly clambered
to her feet. "Ready, Esther? One...two...three!"
The heavy tortoise
carcass skittered across the floor like a marble, slid easily into the darkened
tunnel, and tumbled with a loud crash down the larder steps. Scully whirled
around to stare in blank amazement at Esther, then slowly began to laugh. "I
almost pity the poor mugger who tries attacking you!" she marveled. "Come on,
we’d better make sure it’s still in one piece!"
Esther glanced down at
her plump weathered hands, and slowly shook her head. She hadn’t shoved
it that hard! Would marvels never cease!
Mulder’s abandoned torch
was still burning above the hidden pool. Scully deftly retrieved it, and jammed
it into the ground by the pantry door. Its wavering flame cast eerie shadows
across the ceiling, but assured her that the tortoise had landed safely on its
back.
Esther left Reuben
muttering about seasonings and trimmings, and joined her in the pantry. The
tortoise was still slowly spinning in a counter-clockwise circle. "Storm’s gonna
be bad, isn’t it?" she asked, methodically setting their grain-filled baskets in
a neat row along one wall. "No rescue tonight, that’s for sure!"
Scully guiltily avoided
the older woman’s keen gaze by unpacking the fresh fruits she’d picked earlier.
"Probably not," she admitted over one shoulder. "Agent Mulder thinks we were
pushed pretty far off course by yesterday’s storm."
"So!" Esther heaved a
morose sigh, and turned away. "Well, I knew that an anniversary trip sounded too
good to be true!"
Scully fell silent, at a
rare loss for words. What encouragement could she really offer, when she
felt none herself? Penelope might think this was an exciting adventure, but
being stranded on an uninhabited island wasn’t her idea of fun! And
despite Mulder’s unsettling suspicions, it wasn’t even a valid X-File, which
might have at least spurred her enthusiasm.
As far as she was
concerned, this entire predicament was simply a wretched nightmare from which
she couldn’t awaken fast enough!
Fortunately, Esther
didn’t seem to expect a reply. She silently helped the pensive FBI agent unpack
their emergency kit, then leaned against the cold wall to catch her breath. "How
long do you think this storm will last?" she finally asked. "I hope we have
enough wood stored. Everything will be too soaked to burn for a while, once it’s
over."
Her practicality, even in
the face of incredible odds, was comforting. Scully gratefully clasped her plump
arm. "I really don’t know. But one thing’s for sure, we won’t starve in the
meantime, thanks to you and Reuben!"
Esther flushed with
pleasure. "It’s the least we can do! We all pull together, we’ll do just fine!
That Max, he’ll come around soon enough, you’ll see!"
Mention of the rebellious
boy made Scully instinctively glance toward the cave entrance. Neither teenager
had returned yet, and the storm was gathering strength. "They may not be able to
find the cave in this rain!" she exclaimed. "I’d better go look for them!"
Esther reluctantly
nodded. "Hurry, then!" she urged. "Poppa and I will get the fire started for
you!"
Scully darted outside
again, and winced as the cold rain began to pelt down with increasing force.
"Mulder!" Her voice was snatched away by the howling wind. "Mulder!"
Earlier that day, they’d
guesstimated that the island was just over a mile long, and perhaps half as
wide. The northern bay simply wasn’t that far away--but it seemed like a
thousand kilometers as she struggled through the howling storm, her feet
slipping in the wet shifting sand.
She kept close to the
overgrown trees, grateful for their meager shelter as she dodged airborne
missiles. "Mulder!"
The skies overhead were
black now, churning with thick clouds. A heavy gust of wind nearly knocked her
down, and she grabbed at the nearest trunk for support. Something hard smacked
her temple, and she jolted in pain.
"Mulder, where are
you?"
"Scully!"
Her breath caught as
Mulder’s frantic shout finally reached her. Relieved, she lurched forward again,
eyes slitted against the driving rain. "Over here, Mulder! Hurry!"
Three dark shapes
materialized from the tempest. Max and Penny were clinging to Mulder’s jacket,
their faces white with fear. Brilliant lightning crackled overhead, throwing the
world into stark relief, then plunging them back into thick, inky darkness.
"Hurry!" Scully shouted,
pointing back toward the distant cave. "Before it gets any worse!"
The howling storm seemed
determined to impede them. Sand stung their faces as they stumbled forward,
trying to ward off wind-blown leaves and dirt. The icy rain was pelting down
hard now, thoroughly soaking them. Jagged lightning overhead was their only
illumination.
"Stay close to the
trees!" Mulder yelled, pushing the teenagers under cover. "Come on, Scully!"
Wet, slippery bark dug
into her palms as she staggered after her partner. Branches snatched at her
clothes, tangling in her hair, lashing against her cheeks. Scully stubbornly
fought her way through the barrage on Mulder’s heels.
"There!" she shouted,
catching sight of a flickering golden glow in the distance. "Go on! I’m right
behind you!"
Water was coursing down
the hillside, making the ground treacherous and slippery. Mulder whipped around
and caught at her arm, saving her from a painful fall, as she scrambled up the
hill. She threw him a grateful thumbs-up, and they plunged through the narrow
opening together.
The cave’s sudden silence
was nearly deafening. Then Reuben’s flickering cookfire popped and crackled.
Rising flames painted the rocky walls with red and gold light. Scully staggered
toward the welcoming warmth with a heartfelt sigh of relief.
Max and Penny were
already huddled near the wavering flames, shivering. Well, it served them right.
Maybe this would teach them not to go running off in the teeth of a hurricane!
Somehow Reuben had
already fashioned a simple roasting spit from piled stones and a pair of forked
branches. A large chunk of meat hung in the center, suspended over the crackling
fire. Esther was slowly turning it, letting flame sear it evenly on all sides.
The resulting aroma was mouth-watering. Scully’s stomach rumbled again as she
hung her dripping jacket on a rocky outcropping, then crouched down by the fire
again and stretched her cold hands toward the warming flames.
Reuben carefully sliced
open one of the limes she’d gathered, and squeezed juice over the browning meat.
A tangy citrus scent filled the air. "Just the thing to spice up our dinner!" he
chuckled, nodding in satisfaction while the fire hissed and sizzled. "Another
fifteen minutes and we can slice off the outer sections, just like a leg of
lamb. Tortoise gyros--well, without any of the sauce or veggies," he amended
with a wry grin. "But it should be tasty!"
"I can hardly wait!"
Mulder confessed, hanging his jacket near Scully’s. "How can we help?"
Esther caught his
sidelong glance at the sullen teens, and briskly nodded. "Idle hands breed
mischief," she agreed. "Max, you go gather some water in one of our folding
pots. Hold it under an exposed root or branch, and let the water trickle into
it. And Penny, you can help me turn this spit. Nice and evenly, mind you, so
that nothing burns."
Scully pushed herself
upright with a weary sigh. "What about us?" she asked, reluctantly leaving the
fire’s warmth.
The old woman hesitated
for a moment, clearly unwilling to order FBI agents around. Mulder solved her
dilemma by picking up Reuben’s Army knife, and tossing the emergency kit’s
smaller pocketknife to his partner. "I’ll split some more coconuts, Scully. Why
don’t you help Reuben finish butchering that tortoise?"
Scully pushed a wet
tendril of auburn hair off her scratched forehead, and nodded. "United we stand,
divided we eat faster," she quipped. "Well, I’ve dissected a lot of animals
throughout my career, but never a sea tortoise. Where should I start?"
• • • • • •
PARADISE ISLAND
ATLANTIC OCEAN
2:00 A.M. - DAY 4
Rain continued to pound down outside as Mulder restlessly paced back and forth
within the cave’s snug confines. Scully watched without comment as he stalked to
the entrance, glared impatiently at the watery darkness, then sighed and
wandered back toward the fire.
"Pacing isn’t going to
make the storm end any faster," she finally pointed out. "Why don’t you get some
sleep, Mulder? I’ll keep watch for the next few hours. I need to keep turning
Reuben’s jerky strips, anyway."
Before heading off to
bed, the clever old man had dug a second firepit, and suspended the overturned
tortoise shell over the glowing coals. Ripe grain, some wild grapes, and finely
chopped tortoise meat were simmering into a rich, brothy stew that smelled like
ambrosia. Then he’d replaced their wooden cooking spit with a long shale tray,
and laid dozens of thin meat strips across it to dry.
Mulder watched as Scully
flipped over the long strips with a forked stick. "They should be ready by
tomorrow night, if we keep the heat constant," she explained. "We could do
worse--they’re nutritious, moderately tasty, and they’ll keep for a long time.
Just in case."
The grim frustration in
her voice made him wince. He had no doubts that Skinner would find them
eventually. Keeping everyone from going crazy in the meantime, that was the real
challenge.
Max and Penny could trade
off watching for passing ships with Reuben. That would help keep them out of
trouble--as much as anything could--while allowing the old retiree to feel
useful without overexerting himself. He and Scully could help Esther gather more
food, and under her expert guidance he might even learn to cook a little.
Anything was possible.
It was evenings that
worried him most, when the day’s work was done and they had time to relax--and
fret about their dire predicament. Tonight’s word games with the teens had been
amusing, especially with Reuben cracking jokes and making everyone laugh. But
boredom and frustration were their worst enemies, and could seriously strain
their camaraderie.
Scully was fretting right
now, he could see it in the set of her shoulders as she poked at the fire with a
long stick. Aromatic smoke and a shower of glowing sparks rose toward the
blackening ceiling. He hoped they had enough dry wood left to keep both fires
going through the night.
"How long before the
stew’s ready?" he asked, hoping to divert her attention.
Scully’s back ached from
their long day’s exertions. She rotated stiff shoulders, then added another
conch shell full of water to the bubbling stew. "Tomorrow. And not a single bite
before then, or Reuben will kill you!"
He inhaled
appreciatively. The old cliche about a starving man making a banquet from
stringy old shoe leather ran through his mind. But Reuben’s food tasted
wonderful, even without the added spice called hunger. "Party pooper!" he
teased, rolling his eyes.
She managed a wan smile.
"Go to sleep, Mulder. I’ll wake you in a few hours."
One of the ‘bedroom’
caverns was still empty, dark and quiet and peaceful. Maybe he’d be able to get
some rest there--but instead he settled down near the fires again. Where Scully
stayed, he stayed.
The crackling fire
offered its own soothing ambience. He watched elusive shadows flicker across the
rough ceiling, and willed his burning eyes to close. Yet despite his deep
fatigue, sleep still eluded him. There was an uneasy itch in the back of his
mind, a nagging sensation that he was staring right at something important and
missing it entirely. Not the ceiling, but the island itself. Something strange
was going on around them. He could feel it in the air, the water, the gritty
sand beneath his restless back.
Soft scratching
distracted him, and he rolled onto one side. Scully was morosely poking at the
dirt with her charred stick. More distorted double-helixes, more complex genomic
diagrams. Maybe Skinner was right, he conceded as he quietly watched her.
Finally he sighed,
stretched, pushed himself upright. A few feet away, wind was howling past their
cozy sanctuary with eerie violence. Frigid rain was hammering down with bruising
force. Even if a dozen rescue ships were docked in the bay right now, they’d be
invisible through this torrential squall.
"Let’s both get some
sleep," he suggested, crouching and easing the stick from her weary fingers.
"Nothing to see out there anyway."
"Then why have you been
so restless all night?" she countered, tilting her head to one side.
"Something’s going on in that head of yours, Mulder, I can feel it."
She knew him far too
well. Sighing, he settled down beside her and rubbed his face with both hands.
"I’m not sure," he confessed. "Something keeps nagging at me. It’s like this
soft voice that’s just at the edge of my hearing. But whenever I try to focus on
it, to hear what it’s saying, it fades away. I know it’s trying to tell me
something--something I’m missing, something I should know about where we
are--but I just can’t make it out!"
Scully’s blood ran cold.
"Mulder, that’s impossible," she protested. "There’s no one on this island but
the six of us."
And yet... Hadn’t she
believed, for one brief moment in that narrow blowhole, that she’d heard
nebulous voices calling to her, entreating her?
Icy shivers ran along the
length of her spine.
Three years ago, her
lanky partner had experienced bizarre mental trauma from being exposed to
radiation embedded in metallic fragments from an alien spaceship. That exotic
radiation had forced his agile brain to a new hyperactive level of telepathic
consciousness. And the sudden influx of a million intruding mental voices had
nearly driven him mad. Only radical brain surgery, performed illegally by the
Cigarette-Smoking Man’s nefarious Syndicate surgeons, had saved his life and
sanity.
What he was describing
now sounded eerily like the initial symptoms he’d suffered then. But she hadn’t
been affected by that same radiation, and there were no alien spaceships here.
What could be causing them both to imagine voices now?
Simple over-stressed
imagination, in her case. But for Mulder, with his altered genetic
makeup...anything was possible.
She took a deep, cautious
breath. "Mulder, the brain surgery those Syndicate scientists performed on you
eliminated the telepathic incidents you were experiencing. I really don’t think
this is the same kind of thing. You’re probably just tired. We all are. A
delayed reaction from yesterday’s crash."
She was right--and wrong.
Dammit, he’d never been good at lying to her, even in a good cause. And though
he knew how this truth would terrify her, perhaps it was time to be completely
honest.
The charred branch was
still in his hand. Restlessly he poked at dying embers while he tried to find
the right words. It wasn’t enough that she understand what he’d kept from her,
she needed to understand why he’d held back.
It was no good, there
wasn’t any easy way to broach the subject. He could only hope that simple
honesty would outweigh the condemnation he so richly deserved. "I lied to you."
Scully blinked a few
times in confusion. "About what?" she finally ventured.
He sucked in air like a
drowning man, then let it out again in a heavy sigh. "They didn’t eliminate the
incidents," he confessed. "I just learned how to block out most of it as I
recovered."
For a moment she didn’t
know what to think. If the unwanted, aberrant talent was gone, blocked out was
essentially the same thing as eliminated. Wasn’t it?
But he’d said mostly.
Not completely, just mostly. That left a lot of room for...what? Could he
still tap into whatever unsuspecting minds he chose, and read their most private
thoughts? Sweet Jesus, could he read her thoughts whenever he wanted?
"I heard that!"
"What?" Shocked,
she whirled around to gape at him.
Before she could lash out
at him, Mulder lifted both hands in a rueful laughing apology. "I’m sorry,
Scully, I couldn’t resist! I really couldn’t! You’re so transparent sometimes!"
Her trembling heart was
still lodged in her throat. "Damn you, Mulder! This is nothing to joke about!"
He forced another soft
chuckle, and pulled her close in a gentle hug. "It was wrong of me. And I am
sorry. But you looked so scared, I couldn’t think of any other way to break the
tension!"
"Well, next time try
harder!" Her words were muffled against his shoulder as she burrowed closer,
willing the shakes to stop. "God, Mulder, don’t ever scare me like that again!"
"Okay." He stroked her
tousled hair with one hand, and lightly kissed her clammy forehead. "I won’t. I
promise."
He’d gotten his answer.
Not the one he’d wanted, but the one he’d expected. So, now he’d just have to
continue on as he’d begun. Some secrets, he supposed, were better left untold.
"You were right, though,"
he ventured, trying to mend his fences. "This isn’t the same kind of thing. It’s
not someone else’s voice, it’s inside my own head. I can’t explain it any better
than that." Wearily he closed his eyes, and let his head fall back. "Whatever it
is, it’s trying to remind me of something I was told once, in darkness and in
pain..."
His low voice faded away
as elusive fragments of vision danced before his jade-green eyes, taunting him
with forgotten glimpses of chilling agony. A black-hued cave like this one...
No, not a cave! A barred
cell, with black slime oozing down the rough-hewn stone walls, and panicked
voices screaming in helpless despair!
Mulder jolted as Scully
tenderly brushed a lock of hair from his damp forehead. "Looks like I’m not the
only one suffering from stress," she surmised, managing a wan smile. "Don’t
force it, Mulder. If you’re meant to remember, you will. We’ve both been through
regression hypnosis. You can’t make a memory resurface, and you’ll drive
yourself crazy if you try!"
Forced inactivity always
drove him a little nuts, but she’d never seen him this edgy over a mere storm.
She deliberately rose to her knees, and massaged his neck and shoulders with
strong, agile fingers. "Just promise me one thing, will you?" she urged,
pressing a light kiss against his unshaven cheek. "If you start hearing any more
strange voices, tell me about them before you charge off and do something
stupid? At least then I can cover your back!"
Mulder chuckled at her
well-aimed taunt. "I promise."
His tensed muscles were
starting to relax. She heaved a silent sigh of relief, and gratefully rested her
head on his broad shoulder. Once he’d had a chance to sleep, he’d feel more like
his normal self.
Silence drifted back
through the fire-warmed cave, but it was a more comfortable thing than they’d
shared earlier. "We’ve been missing for nearly forty-eight hours," she finally
murmured. "Even with Skinner’s intervention, NAS won’t search for us much
longer."
On this topic, Mulder
could meet her worried gaze with sublime confidence. "When they recover the
charter’s wreckage, and can’t find our bodies, Skinner will force them to
continue looking," he promised. "Senator Kensington and Max’s father aren’t
going to give up, either, no matter what Max thinks. They’re quite capable of
mounting their own expedition."
"But they don’t know
where to look." Her words fell like leaden bricks between them, and echoed
through the quiet cavern like a somber death knoll. "If you’re right about what
happened to our raft, how are they ever going to find us?"
"He’s coming
here."
Mulder’s soft, haunting
reply startled Scully, and sent a new mass of icy chills racing down her spine.
"Who is?" she demanded, sitting up straighter. "Mulder, what are you talking
about?"
"What?" Mulder blinked a
few times, and stared at her in confusion. "I said, Senator Kensington and Mr.
Stanwick both have the money and resources to start their own independent
search..."
"No, not that!" Scully
interrupted, leaning forward to grip his suddenly-icy hands. "You said, ‘He’s
coming here,’ in the spookiest voice I’ve ever heard you use! What did you mean,
Mulder? Who’s coming here?"
Shaken, he simply stared
at her, and shook his head. "I don’t know."
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