Copyright:  Thursday, March 10, 2005 03:34:04 PM         PARADISE ISLAND ATLANTIC OCEAN MORNING - DAY 5               "Hey, Mulder!" Scully wearily pushed aside a thick tangle of vines, and bent down to examine the rocky hillside. "I found our trickle of water again."            Already she was bone-tired, and the blazing sun was just reaching its zenith. Robinson Crusoe must have been some kind of superman to survive in the wilds more than a week, she concluded with a jaw-cracking yawn.            Of course, he hadn’t stayed awake all night, every night, watching for non-existent ships on the distant horizon. Maybe tonight she’d ask Penny and Max to take turns, so that she and Mulder could get a full night’s sleep.            Then there was Esther’s tidepool. Just as she’d been drifting off into a well-deserved nap at dawn, Penelope had dashed into the cave, shouting about a million fish being trapped by their big net. And of course everyone had felt compelled to tramp down the beach, and see how well their ingenious invention had worked.            A million fish was, perhaps, a slight exaggeration--but they’d all been genuinely amazed to see the early-morning water churning with shimmery fins. Even if luck was against them for the next week, they’d have enough food to survive comfortably.            After all the fish had been scaled and gutted, and the seagulls had fought sharp-clawed crabs for the offal, she’d wanted nothing more than to curl up and sleep for days. But she’d promised to help Mulder track down the elusive stream that fed their cave’s pool. And weary as she was, a promise was a promise.            Besides, her scientific soul still fretted about that odd tingling. Perhaps they’d find the answers to that mystery when they found the stream’s source.            Several times already, it had disappeared among the tumbled boulders, only to emerge in a totally different area further up the hillside. There seemed to be no logical pattern to its random zigzagging. She wished it would stop playing hide-and-seek, because the sultry morning heat was already stifling.            Mulder bent down beside her, dipped his hands in the small pool nestled between a trio of large rocks, and splashed cool water across his sweat-streaked face. "It has to originate up there," he exclaimed, pointing to a dark crevice about four hundred feet above them. "We’re getting close, Scully!"            "Yeah, but to what?" she muttered under her breath. The higher they climbed, the more agitated he was becoming. And her concern was deepening with every labored step.            He’d scared her the other night, more than she liked to admit. Hefty medics hadn’t been able to restrain him three years ago, when his agile brain had been triggered into a near-deadly overdrive. If he was starting to experience similar symptoms again, how could she hope to keep him under control?            "Mulder, we’re agreed that the water isn’t dangerous. Why are you so determined to find the source?" she demanded, leaning against the nearest tree trunk.            A brief uncertain look clouded her partner’s youthful face. "I don’t know," he confessed. "Something keeps--pulling me, I can’t explain it any other way. I just know that finding it is important, somehow."            Before she could straighten, he turned and clambered up the steep hill again. "Mulder, why?" she protested, struggling to keep up with him. "Because that’s what the voices are telling you?"            Mulder whirled around so abruptly that she nearly stumbled back. "I am not going crazy, Scully!" he insisted. "I know what I was told..."            Dawning comprehension suddenly lit his face, and he sank down on a wide tree root. "Tunguska!" he whispered. "Scully, that’s it! The prisoner who shared my cell said a cure for the black oil had been found on an island--a special island that pulled ships to it! This has to be that island!"            Scully stared suspiciously at him. "And why does this have to be that island?" she argued, jamming both fists on her hips. "Mulder? Mulder!"            He was already scrambling up the hill again, heedless of the clinging vines that barred his path. "I’m right, Scully, I know I am!" he yelled back over his shoulder. "You’ll see!"            Scully groaned, and staggered after him. "Mulder, wait! Don’t go in there alone!" she shouted as he disappeared from view. "Mulder!" • • • • • •            Mulder barely even heard her warning cry. Some intensely powerful force was tugging at him, impelling him through the dark crevice he’d seen from below. A wide stream of water burbled through the narrow opening, where two steep slopes folded together. Here was the mysterious source, carving its winding channel among the scattered rocks, then tumbling merrily down toward the distant beach!            And yet...            Something more was in there, waiting in its endless solitude, crying out for discovery. Its lonely song had haunted his dreams for years--ever since he’d come in contact with Dr. Barnes’ mysterious alien artifact, he suddenly realized. Only now, for the first time, he could fully hear and understand its plaintive call. The truth he’d sought for so many years!            Scully was scrabbling up the cliff behind him, shouting his name. She’d worked so hard for this moment of triumph, despite her deeply ingrained skepticism. He should wait for her. She deserved to share it with him...            But the compelling siren song was too strong to resist. Excitement pulsed in his veins as he plunged headlong through the shadowed entrance.            Inky blackness instantly enveloped him. Discordant sounds assaulted his ringing ears, half-recognized echoes from a million different clamoring voices. Instinctively he recoiled, and sprawled across the uneven floor. "Scully!" He could barely even hear his own agonized cry as tingling water rippled across his widespread fingers, and the riot of noise suddenly intensified. "Scully, make it stop..."            Familiar hands were tugging at his shoulders, pulling him across the rocky floor. He gasped in mute protest as something sharp stabbed deep into his left thigh. Then fresh air wafted across his skin, and the sun-dappled forest gradually coalesced around Scully’s frightened face.            "Mulder! Can you hear me?" She was bending close, vigorously shaking him. It seemed to take forever before he could pick out her voice from the bellowing multitude. He focused all his strength on the shape of her mouth, the sound of her words--and slowly comprehension began to filter through his reeling brain.            "Mulder, don’t do this to me again! Come on, answer me! Nod your head, wiggle your fingers, anything!"            He’d never seen her so distraught before. His throat was on fire, but it was impossible to ignore her urgent plea. "Scully? What hit me?" he rasped.            Scully released a deep sigh of relief as his glazed eyes finally focused. "You tell me!" she scowled, rocking back on her heels. "When I got up here, you were flat on your back, clutching your head like it was splitting apart! Didn’t you hear me calling you, telling you to wait?"            "I couldn’t--the voices kept pulling me inside." He grimaced and tried to sit up, then fell back again with a choked gasp. "Scully, my leg..."            Blood was pooling beneath his left thigh, staining the hard-packed dirt. Scully’s eyes widened. "Ohmigod, Mulder!"            Hot agony lanced through his veins as she deftly rolled him over, and peeled away torn fabric. More blood welled up; he could feel it dripping down his leg like liquid fire. The rocky hillside began to swim before his dilating eyes.            Scully probed at the gaping wound with gentle fingers, and muttered a soft obscenity. This was exactly what she’d feared most, a serious injury that couldn’t be treated with their paltry emergency medkit.            Mulder and his damned voices! She’d love to strangle every single one of them--if they really existed!            His skin felt cold and clammy beneath her bloodstained hands. But he hadn’t sliced through an artery...            Jesus, he couldn’t be going into shock already!            "Hang on, Mulder," she urged, glancing quickly around the open clearing.   "Don’t you dare die on me now!"           A broken coconut shell was lying nearby, half-wedged between two rocks. She yanked it free and dipped it into the nearby stream.            Her fingers instantly began to tingle.            Scully jerked back, and stared at her dripping hands in blank disbelief. Over the past four days, she’d incurred countless scratches and scrapes from clambering up and down the island’s steep hillsides. None of the abrasions were deep, but they stung in the sultry tropical humidity.            Her hands were grimy, blotched with dirt and Mulder’s blood--but not a single scratch marred her smooth skin.            "The water!" she whispered, stunned. "Jesus, Mulder, it’s the water!"            Praying, she spun around and sloshed cold water over her partner’s bleeding thigh. His long, lax body jerked once in mute response.            He’d been cut, burned, stabbed, shot, and clawed often enough to know that the treatment nearly always hurt worse than the injury. Yet to his dazed surprise, the sharp searing pain began to fade away!            Icy shivers raced along his spine as cool water mingled with his spilled blood. He clenched his fists, struggling to remain conscious. Now was not the time to succumb, not when Scully needed him so much!            The discordant buzzing in his head grew closer, louder. Scully was saying something above him, but he couldn’t focus on her voice. He tried to move, to twist around, but his sluggish body refused to obey.            Something was happening to him--he could feel the water penetrating deeper and deeper into his leg, spreading through his veins like thick syrup. "Scully?" Even his voice sounded drugged, slurred with shock and fatigue.            Scully stared in wondering disbelief. Before her eyes, torn flesh and severed veins were mending, fusing, healing with incredible speed. Red foam bubbled and trickled down his leg, widening the dark stain spreading across his ripped jeans. Then it faded away and vanished.            Healthy unmarred skin welled up and encompassed the raw gash. Within moments, not even a scar marked the spot where he’d been profusely bleeding. "Mulder, I don’t believe it!" she whispered, shaking her head. "Your leg! It’s totally healed!"            She cautiously prodded at his numb flesh. The muscles and tendons all felt exactly as they should. Not a trace of the deep laceration remained.            She’d read about miraculous ‘cures’ by self-proclaimed faith healers, but she’d never expected to witness anything so incredible herself. Nor could she entirely credit what she’d just seen. What if the healing effect was only temporary? What if movement or stress reopened his wound?            She’d taken to wearing her impromptu sling as a handy carrying strap around her waist. Just in case, she whipped it off and carefully wrapped it around his muscular thigh.            His eyes were still glazed, and his forehead felt clammy under her fingers. She bent closer, trying to elicit a response. "Mulder, can you hear me? Come on, talk to me! Don’t fade out now!"            Thirsty, he was so thirsty! He needed more water to complete the cure!            "Thirsty," he rasped, instinctively licking his dry lips. "Please, Scully..."            She hesitated again. Preliminary treatment for traumatic blood loss did include replenishing lost bodily fluids. And under normal circumstances, she’d have insisted that he drink all he could hold. But was this water safe for him to drink?            One of the first things she’d learned in medical school was that, while small doses of a potentially dangerous substance could heal, larger doses could be fatal. Scrophulariaceae digitalis was a perfect example. Minute quantities of purple foxglove could be used as a heart stimulant, or a diuretic. Larger amounts caused lethal heart seizures.            This water was much closer to its mysterious source, so its healing powers were dramatically more potent. A small amount had just saved Mulder’s life. Would more water complete the cure, or kill him?            On the other hand, he was still suffering from shock, and untreated shock could kill just as effectively as traumatic blood loss. Perhaps a small amount of water might revive him without endangering his life.            If only she could analyze a sample, and make sure it was safe!            She’d dropped the empty coconut shell nearby. A worried frown creased her forehead as she scooped more water, propped up his head, and held the shell to his parched lips.            He was barely conscious; his pulse was weak and thready. She gently opened his mouth and let water trickle down his throat. Reflex helped him swallow a few drops. She waited, then tried again.            Finally his eyes flickered open, and renewed awareness gradually filtered into his sharpening gaze. She sighed with relief as healthy color began to flush his tanned cheeks.            "Don’t drink too much," she warned, stroking a wayward lock of hair off his forehead. "It could make you sick."            The loud humming and bone-deep lassitude faded away as he greedily drained the half-shell, and glanced around for more. Scully prudently set the shell aside. "How do you feel now?" she urged.            Mulder levered himself up on one elbow, and a bewildered frown darkened his mobile features. "I feel--fine," he admitted, shaking his head. "What happened, Scully?"            "You nearly bled to death, that’s what happened!" she retorted, rolling her eyes in exasperation. "Fortunately it was a clean cut!" And she made a decisive slicing motion with one hand. "Will you be all right for a minute?"            "Scully, no!" he protested, catching her hand. "You can’t go in there, it’s not safe. The darkness, the voices..."            She laid a worried hand on his forehead, but the deadly clammy chill had passed. "Mulder, the cave isn’t dark," she assured him, pointing at the shadowy entrance. "And your ‘voices’ don’t seem to affect me. So I’ll be fine. You just rest."            She pressed a reassuring kiss against his forehead, and rose to her feet. Mulder watched with wide, anxious eyes as she stepped across the shallow stream, and warily approached the cave.            She was right; the cave didn’t look that dark. Why had he been plunged into darkness the moment he’d stepped inside?            Damn, he was still so thirsty! The deep-seated craving was impossible to resist. An instinctive voice stronger than logic prompted him to grab the empty shell, and gulp down more water, while her back was turned. The cool liquid tingled in his dry throat.            Overhead, a sultry breeze rustled through the treetops. Or were those muted voices whispering to him, as rejuvenating energy spread through his veins?            "Mulder?"  Scully was crouching in the shadows, tugging at something half-buried in the dirt. "Look at this!"           He quickly dropped the worn shell and sat up straighter as she hurried back, a long knife blade cradled in her hands. "I hope your tetanus boosters are up to date," she grumbled, hunkering down beside him.            Mulder carefully examined the weapon, then met her worried gaze. "This is a Russian AK-47 bayonet," he told her. "Judging by the weathering, I’d guess that it’s about twenty years old."            Scully thoughtfully ran one finger along its dulled length. "It was jutting up in plain sight. I’m surprised you didn’t see it when you entered the cave. But what’s it doing here?"            Renewed enthusiasm began to burn in Mulder’s jade-green eyes. "It all fits, Scully, just like I told you! My cell-mate in Tunguska said that the Russians had discovered a cure for the black oil, the alien virus, on a hidden island. He called it ‘lyékarstva savyérsheniy,’ which roughly translates as ‘the ultimate cure.’"            Awe suddenly transformed his smudged face. "If it could heal my leg that quickly, imagine what it could do for Reuben’s heart! Or someone suffering from cancer! Or..."            Scully quickly lifted a restraining hand. "Mulder, we have no idea what the long-term effects of this ‘ultimate cure’ might be. Didn’t you tell me that most of the Tunguska prisoners were dying from it?"            "They did something to it, altered it so that it would only react to the alien virus," he clarified. "But they hadn’t perfected it yet, that’s why prisoners were dying. In its raw form, imagine what it could do!"            "I just saw what it can do," Scully tartly reminded him. "But we have no way of knowing how extensive its capabilities really are without performing thorough research! And I, for one, have no intention of using Reuben or anyone else as a guinea pig!"            Mulder clambered to his feet, and cautiously flexed his leg. Not a trace of pain remained. He was tempted to remove Scully’s makeshift bandage, just to prove his point. Instead, he pointed into the shadowed cave.            "The water’s source is in there," he reminded her. "Whatever this ‘cure’ is, it must be in there, too."            Scully grabbed his arm. "You aren’t thinking of going back in there! Not after what happened to you a few minutes ago!"            "Scully, we need to find out what this ‘cure’ really is," he insisted. "Think of what it could mean--the cure for every disease that’s ever plagued this planet!"            Scully’s hand fell away, and she stared up at him with wide, haunted eyes. "Cobra’s research! Mulder, what if his work was based on this ‘cure’, too?" she whispered.            He slowly nodded. "It’s the key to everything we’ve been searching for all these years. I have to go back in!"            Scully took a deep, steadying breath. How ironic it was that ever since their plane had crashed, she’d despaired about returning to her precious research. And now, totally out of the blue, was a gift from heaven--the very key she needed to find a viable vaccine for that deadly alien virus!            She forced herself to breathe slowly. Think logically. This might not be what you need, after all. It might be a complete dead-end. Don’t look so hard for what might not really be there...            Mulder took a step toward the narrow entrance, and his foot bumped against the abandoned coconut shell. It skittered into a nearby rock, and spun in a tight circle before toppling over.            "Scully, look!" he exclaimed, grabbing it and angling it toward the distant sunlight. "This shell was pried open with some kind of tool. And not very long ago, either, or the outer husk would have deteriorated completely!"            Scully stared at the weathered blade still clutched in her hand. "You’re right," she murmured. "Those marks can’t be more than a few years old. You don’t suppose there’s anyone else on the island with us?"            Her partner shook his head. "If there were any other people here, I’d be able to ‘hear’ them," he countered, tapping a long finger against his temple. "Whoever made these marks is long-gone."            "Because they left?" Scully retorted under her breath. "Or because they died?"            Suddenly the huge trees seemed menacing. She shivered, and tried to mask her reaction by thrusting the dulled bayonet into her waistband. Should she be relieved, or dismayed, that other people had visited this island at least twice before?            Had they been scientific teams who’d come to study and collect samples of Mulder’s mysterious ‘cure’--or only helpless refugees like herself?            Well, she was a scientist, too, and a damned good one. If there was anything worthwhile in that cave, she’d find it and analyze it herself, despite their current primitive conditions.            And when they were finally rescued--God help the Syndicate and their precious Alien Colonization Project!            Heartened by that thought, she briskly retraced her steps to the cavern’s mouth. Mulder’s long shadow wavered across hers as they stepped over the gurgling stream. A warm breeze rustled through the trees overhead. She hesitated, took another deep bracing breath, then adamantly stepped inside.